The Remnants
by BellatriaMusica
Summary: With the Slytherins gone and Voldemort in power once more, the Hogwarts staff is left to deal with the remaining students and rising tensions. But what should be a time for unity may find their friendships tested more than they ever thought possible...
1. A Difference of Opinion

**Disclaimer:** See this? It's under the "Harry Potter" category on a fan fiction site. This means that, hey, this story is written by a _fan_ of Harry Potter, not its wonderful creator and owner, J. K. Rowling. Big shocker, I know. It's all hers—except for the shameful spelling/grammatical/stylistic errors, of course. Honestly, though, just having fun here. ;)

**Author's Note:** Hey there! Glad you found your way here—it's good to be back, though sporadically. Just a quick FYI: This is a sequel to _The Leaving_, an AU one-shot of mine set during Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts (in which Snape is still the Potions Master and the students of Slytherin House are mysteriously absent). If you haven't read that yet, I'd encourage you to do so, though if you don't mind missing a few references in this first chapter, you won't be too lost along the way if you haven't read it. Yes, I know that fic is old and riddled with errors, and doesn't seem as though it would work for a longer fic—but I promised I would continue with a sequel if the bunny bit, so here we are.

I can't promise consistent updates—life is a crazy thing. However, I'll do my best, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

The fact that Severus had been expecting the knock did not make it any more welcome.

He sighed and contemplated the door to his quarters, wondering if it was worth pretending to be asleep, but decided that lying to his employer could only make the upcoming conversation more uncomfortable for both of them. It would be far from pleasant as it was—and there was no avoiding it. He had practically heard the gears turning in Albus's head from the moment his Slytherins had failed to step foot in the Great Hall.

"Severus? May I come in?"

_No_, he thought savagely. _You insulted my house, ignored me, took the lives of my students for granted, tried to turn it into one of your jokes_—_no, you may not come in._ But he stood and went to the door anyway. He made sure his face was stony as he pushed it open—not that it took much effort.

"Headmaster."

The usual brightness in Albus's eyes was, for once, utterly absent. "Might I have a word, Severus?"

"Will it make a difference if I say 'no'?" muttered Severus, turning on his heel and leaving Albus to deal with the door. It was stupid of him—unfair of him—to make this harder than it needed to be, but Severus didn't care. He was too angry.

"Of course," said Albus calmly, though he followed the younger wizard into his sitting room nonetheless. "I know you are upset with me. It is perfectly understandable if you do not want to talk. Know, however, that you cannot avoid facing me forever."

"And what, precisely, is there to discuss?" snarled Severus, already having to ball his hands into fists to stop their shaking. This was not good...he could not afford to lose control so early… "My life has clearly always meant little to you. It should not surprise me that you think the same of my students."

Albus was silent for a moment as he took a seat and stared at his fingertips. "I am not entirely sure how to begin to answer you, Severus. If that is truly what you believe, then I fear we have misunderstood each other for a very long time."

"Perhaps we have," Severus snapped, refusing to join his mentor around the fire. "But I doubt it. What have Slytherins ever been to you? An inconvenience, at best—indifferent or unconvinced of your power, if not openly opposed. And then, when one comes around, it's suddenly a case of them having been _sorted into the wrong house_ to begin with."

He was pleased to see Albus flinch slightly; that offhand comment of his had caused, once Severus had overcome his shock, a row that had made for an uncomfortable several weeks. It still rankled, even to the point where Severus was loath to bring it up for fear of reopening the argument again, but he knew it caused the headmaster just as much discomfiture, which he surely deserved at the moment. Severus would have smirked if he hadn't been so furious.

"Did it ever occur to you that there might just be decent people in Slytherin? Those that were chosen for its admirable traits, and don't need to be 'rehabilitated'? No. No, of course not. They're pushed aside and taken for granted, and everything other than trouble from them is overlooked from the moment the hat comes off their head. Don't pretend you care about them, Albus. No one does. Not really."

"Do not make the mistake of thinking I do not care for _all_ of the students that pass through these halls, Severus," said Albus, rather more coolly than usual. "And, forgive me, but with all the 'decent people' in your house, perhaps you can explain to me why not one of them stayed behind."

That stung, more than Severus cared to admit, but he hardly needed to—he was shouting before he knew it.

"God_damn_it, Albus, you know why!" he bellowed. "Do you think all of them left by choice? Oh, but of course, I've forgotten. All of them were already Death-Eaters-in-training!"

"That is not necessary, Severus…. What do you mean? You know where they've—?"

"YES! Isn't it obvious? Those that didn't go willingly were forced, and by god, if they want to survive, they'll fight for the Dark Lord!"

"As I suspected...but why didn't you tell me of this, if you knew?" said Albus sharply, and Severus was torn between wanting to shake him or breaking down at the trace of suspicion he heard there.

"I didn't know. Not until they weren't here. But I'm—I'm fairly certain they will be there, when he next calls for me."

"Severus, this is not a time for uncertainty."

"It is not a time for jokes, either!"

Albus nodded. "I am aware of that, and I apologise. It was thoughtless of me. However, the importance of appearing to our students as though—"

"As though what? As though everything was under control, as though it were no surprise? Merlin's beard, all they had to do was glance at our table—"

"—which was made even more conspicuous by your leaving, I might add."

"Because my students are OUT THERE PREPARING TO DIE FOR A CAUSE THEY CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO WIN, AND ALL YOU CAN DO IS SIT THERE AND ACT AS THOUGH IT'S A JOKE!"

"That's _enough_, Severus." For the first time, Albus sounded truly angry, his light blue eyes icy as he surveyed his Potions Master with a frown. "Do not think I don't realise the position in which they are placed, or what it means we may have to do."

"Which is _what?_ Sit back and let them remain with _him_, where they'll either be killed there for insubordination, or by us for cooperating with him? I won't do it, Albus; do not ask it of me!"

"I would not dream of asking that of you, if I could not ask it of others."

"_Ha!_"

"Severus, we will do what we must. For now, that means keeping things under control here, until we determine what exactly Voldemort plans to do with them, and considering what to do from there. There is no room for us to act rashly."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Severus thought he should have been cowed by the warning in Albus's voice, or the sheer power filling the room, but he didn't care. He was trembling with rage, not wanting to believe that his mentor would pronounce a death sentence so easily upon his students. _What right do you have, to say what matters most?_ he nearly shouted.

"You're going to do nothing," he said instead. "You're going to sit here and do _nothing_, while the Dark Lord weeds out all those that don't truly want to commit, and they'll be dead long before you get around to figuring out a plan—and by that time, the only ones left will be the ones that don't want anything to do with you! All those that could have helped us, that would have been _glad_ to have been returned here, will _die_ and YOU'RE DOING NOTHING!"

"Severus!"

"Get out," he stammered. "_Leave_ my quarters, Headmaster!"

"Severus, _sit down _and listen!"

"You cannot possibly have anything else to say to me," spat Severus. "Get out. GET OUT!"

"No," said Albus simply. "We need to have this conversation, Severus, and you need to understand me before it is over."

Severus turned on his heel. There were so many snappish replies and insults and curses flying around his head that he was not entirely sure what made it out of his mouth; then he was running, storming out of his office and nearly destroying the door in the process. He heard the headmaster calling him back, rather angrily, but didn't stop—he wasn't sure if either of them would have survived, had they remained in the same room for much longer.

He was several floors away before he finally stopped, panting. His anger had not abated, but now it was tinged by trepidation—he'd never gone so far in an argument with Albus before. Surely he would not just let that go. If Albus Dumbledore thought something needed to be said, it would be said, come hell or high water, and now there would likely be a reprimand thrown in, as well. Severus ground his teeth—it just wasn't fair. He didn't deserve this, and neither did his Slytherins.

His fear for them cramped his stomach into knots and clouded his mind; he regretted fleeing from his only available sanctuary in the castle. There, at least, he could be comfortable and secure as he worried—or, at least, he would have been until Albus intruded, he thought angrily. Instead, he stalked the corridors restlessly, unable either to settle anywhere or to face going back to the rooms where Albus awaited him, not caring where he was going. Up staircases, down passages, through doors, doubling back...it didn't matter, really, so long as he didn't have to see that weathered face that infuriated him like none other…

He paused in the middle of his failed attempts not to rant to himself. As he had not really been paying attention to where he was going, he had ended up in a long, unfamiliar room, its many tables covered in an array of glass instruments that put his own potions lab to shame. He surveyed it curiously—surely no one could have known this was here? Granted, he had occasionally caught students in abandoned rooms attempting illicit potions, but this was far too elaborate of a set-up, and—as he looked around, noticed there were no ingredients or other paraphernalia—just rows upon rows of bottles and flasks and phials, glittering faintly in the dim light.

Strange. He picked up a small flask and examined it, feeling a stab of annoyance. What the hell was all this doing here? What the hell was _he_ doing here? This was surely some trick of the castle's; Hogwarts liked to surprise the unwary wanderer, though he thought he'd certainly outgrown this sort of thing by now…. He refocussed on the flask again, noticing dimly it was not clear as he'd expected, but a brilliant light blue. Almost like—

He broke off that line of thought immediately; he was suddenly overwhelmingly, irrationally angry. Before he could stop himself, he'd hurled the flask across the room in a fit of temper. It exploded against the flagstones with satisfying force, and Severus stared at the shards without feeling. He hardly dared to glance at the table beside him: it was too tempting, all that fragility within reach, practically begging to follow its blue-tinted companion...and yet…

The contents of the first few tables quickly littered the ground; it was a convenient, if unexpected, outlet for Severus's rage. Not a single piece was left untouched by the time he stopped, breathing heavily, slightly ashamed of the destruction he'd caused and not entirely sure whether it made him feel better or worse. He sighed and turned to leave; he had better things to do with his time, like thinking of what he was going to say when he returned to his rooms to face Albus again, that manipulative son of a—

He jumped at the deafening shattering sound, and whirled to face the room again, only to see that the tables of glass had repaired themselves without his raising a wand. His neck prickled.

"What is this?" he whispered. "WHAT THE _HELL _IS THIS?"

There was, of course, no answer, but the room mocked him with its pristine condition. He upended the first table in annoyance and quickly demolished the others, taking care to trample any pieces he found that were that curious light blue. Twice more the room repaired itself, and twice more he attempted to destroy it, growing ever more frustrated, but too tired by the time he turned away for the third time to seriously consider going at it again. _Fine_. If the castle insisted on being as insufferable as its master, he would leave.

He was glad to see the door disappear as he slammed it shut; he never wanted to see the place again. He resumed his pacing of the corridors, still unwilling to return to his quarters in case Albus had decided to wait him out, and found himself halfway across the first floor when he turned a corner and collided with another person.

"_Shit!_"

"Ouch!" Their exclamation was slightly more eloquent, and understandably so; Minerva was blinking at him in surprise, looking remarkably human with her dark hair falling in a loose plait over her dressing gown.

"Goodness, Severus, you gave me a fright...It's late; I didn't expect anyone else to be—Severus, you're bleeding," she said in concern, reaching for his face before he could object. His cheek stung slightly as she touched it, and her fingers came away clutching a stained shard of glass. He focussed on this instead, unable to bear the understanding that dawned in her eyes as she examined it and gave him a searching look.

"You're up late," he muttered quickly. It was a tactless way of changing the subject, but she seemed to accept it nonetheless.

"I was going to the kitchens for hot chocolate. Care to join me?"

"I—" Severus hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted anyone's company at the moment—particularly someone who had seen him completely humiliate himself mere hours ago—but Minerva was kind enough that she would not likely bring it up, and it beat the alternative of facing Albus. "All right. If you don't mind."

"Of course not," she said, falling into stride beside him. "I don't mind sharing traditions."

"Traditions?"

"Would you believe, after over forty years of teaching, I'm still anxious the night before a new term," she said, smiling slightly. "Of course, it's more to do now with the scheduling than anything—you only cause a train-wreck with the schedules once, but the fear you'll do it again never really goes away."

Severus snorted. It was hard to believe that clever, efficient Minerva could ever have messed up anything so badly. She raised an eyebrow as though she knew what he was thinking.

"It's a lot harder than it looks."

"I believe you."

"I wish I'd believed it sooner. The first year I was deputy headmistress, I—well, I bungled it so badly that half the day was over before everything had been sorted. I was so nervous after that, I'm afraid I was rather insufferable." Minerva caught him smirking at this, and laughed. "Not like that, you know...no, I couldn't sleep at all before the next year—Albus finally took me aside and told me to stop worrying—and I didn't, of course, but we stayed up a bit, had some hot chocolate, and I slept easier after that."

Her cheeks were rather pink, but she drew herself up, abruptly seeming much more like her usual self. "So. I come down here every year, now. I think it's something in the way the elves make it, but it _does_ help me relax."

They had reached a tall still-life of a bowl of fruit, and Minerva reached for the pear, which turned into a handle at her touch. Severus hesitated, but she pulled the painting out of the way and gestured him inside, the look behind her smile all too knowing as he passed her.

"Professor Snape—and Professor McGonagall, Mistress!" squeaked something at about thigh-level. Severus raised an eyebrow at the beaming house elf, but it did not seem to be intimidated.

"Hello, Nimsy," said Minerva graciously.

"We is wondering when you is going to be coming, Mistress, but I is saying you was going to be here, no matter what! I is telling them, I says, 'Professor McGonagall is coming for her chocolate, and we is going to be ready for her!' You—you _is_ coming for your chocolate, Mistress?" added the little elf anxiously, glancing at Severus.

"Of course I am. I wouldn't miss it," Minerva reassured her. "And—Professor Snape would like some as well."

Nimsy's eyes widened. "Sir—Sir is wanting to have some too?" she said in awe.

"I—Minerva—" Severus started, but Minerva's face brooked no argument, so he swallowed instead. "Yes. I'll have some as well."

Nimsy squealed in excitement and pattered away, joining the elves by the stoves as they babbled contentedly. Severus did not want to catch their eyes, so he allowed Minerva to lead him to the long table nearest the immense fireplace.

"I'm sorry," she said in an undertone. "You don't have to drink it if you don't want to...it's only that I've known Nimsy for a very long time, and she's very excitable. They love visitors—they so rarely get to fuss over anyone in person, I think they'd be hurt if you didn't let them serve you."

There were so many incredulous responses on Severus's tongue, he wasn't quite sure which would be most appropriate. "You know the house elves?" he said finally.

"Nimsy has cleaned my office for over forty years, Severus. There's nothing wrong with taking an interest. It's a bit non-traditional, certainly, but she's a gentle creature with some rather fascinating stories."

Severus stared, barely taking note of the mugs that were shoved in front of them by elfin hands. "You are full of surprises, as ever, Minerva."

"As are you," she countered, her gaze piercing over the rim of her mug. "I—I take it you have seen Albus, then," she prodded gently.

"He's probably still waiting for me in my quarters," he said bitterly. "Suffice it to say I am not eager to return. I—hell, I completely lost it with him."

"I won't say he didn't deserve it."

Her words took a moment to register, and then he stared, his automatic anger fading. "I—you agree with me."

Minerva shook her head. "You know how I feel about what he did earlier—"

"He said he was trying to keep everyone calm, keep up appearances for the students."

"Well, it was a crass way to go about it, and it clearly didn't work, did it?" sniffed Minerva. "And, knowing you, I expect you told him so."

"Among other things."

"Ah. And there's the problem, isn't it?"

"I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"You know perfectly well what I mean, Severus. It's completely understandable that Albus was out of line, and Merlin knows he needs someone to remind him when he is, sometimes. However, neither of you had any business trying to confront each other when you're both angry."

"I—what?" said Severus, feeling rather wrong-footed by this. "He came to me! Do you think I _wanted_ to speak with him?"

"Of course not. Hence, you probably managed to say quite a few things to deliberately make him feel worse, but never mind that now…" she sighed. Severus opened his mouth angrily, but she forestalled him with an upraised hand.

"I'm sorry, Severus. I didn't mean it as judgment. Merlin knows I would have done the same."

"He would have taken it from you, though," Severus muttered, taking a swig of his chocolate and suppressing a shudder at the disconcerting warmth. He had no rational reason for being happy; it was no right of a drink's—and a non-alcoholic one, at that—to attempt to comfort him. He was slightly appeased, and simultaneously depressed, by Minerva's lack of response.

"I should just go," he said quietly. "Like the rest of them."

"Severus, you agreed—"

"—that I would stay, because you insisted, and because I thought—" he paused, irritated with himself, "—that somehow, it would work out, and Albus and I could come to some sort of understanding. I thought he would do something."

"Even Albus's power has its limits, you know," said Minerva softly. "He cannot fix something like this overnight."

"He has no intention of fixing this at all."

Minerva eyed him sternly. "That's not true, and you know it. He just needs time to figure out what exactly is going on, and he'll have all your students that want to be rescued back before you know it. In the meantime, he needs our trust."

"In the meantime, half my students could be dead, and he's willing to sacrifice them so he can plan a strategy that better fits into his scheme for the 'greater good,'" said Severus hotly. He regretted his harsh tone when he saw that Minerva's eyes were unusually bright.

"Oh, Severus, I know," she said gently. "I know you care for them. It's hard to stand by and do nothing—I know you feel like you've failed them, and that waiting while they're in danger just feels like failing them even more." She reached for his hand—the one she had healed hours ago—and he surprised himself by letting her take it.

"But—Severus—you also know what would happen if you tried to drop everything to help them."

"I do," he conceded. "But—" He felt childish for saying it; Merlin, he was no better than a schoolboy whining to his professor about the amount of homework, but he ploughed on regardless. "I'm tired, Minerva. I'm tired of giving up everything for a cause and watching people die anyway."

"I know. I'm tired, too."

"It's just—I want to _save_ them, for once. Say to hell with my duty."

"Could you live with that?"

"No," he admitted. He wished he were lying—he was a _Slytherin_, for God's sake, he should only be caring about his own skin if he wanted to fit his house's typical expectations, shouldn't he? But, somewhere along the line, Dumbledore's annoying sense of sacrifice must have rubbed off onto him. _Or was pounded into me. Damn him_, Severus thought.

Minerva nodded. "I know you couldn't. And so—manipulative as it may seem—does Albus."

"And so he's using me. Again." He sighed. "He has always asked so much that I honestly thought—"

He broke off suddenly as he realised Minerva's hand was still placed over his, though he had curled it into a fist at some point; she was staring at him like few ever had. Bloody _hell_, what was he doing? He was a spy (and, more importantly, a man); he couldn't afford to be pouring out his frustrations to anyone, even if Minerva was likely as close as he had to a friend, and had already seen him cry. _Especially_ since she'd seen him cry. Complaining now was—was just begging for sympathy, wasn't it? He took a breath and tried to return her gaze levelly.

"It doesn't matter. It's just that I—I can't do everything," he finished, lamely.

"No," she agreed. "You can't. You can't fulfil your duties here, and to Albus, and also to You-Know-Who, and still try to take on reclaiming your Slytherins by yourself. It was hard enough for you last year—"

"And with Umbridge gone, there is considerably less stress—"

"—from the school, yes. But with You-Know-Who out in the open, there's bound to be more to do on that front, and in dealing with the Ministry, and of course with the Order. If you intend to focus on that, Severus, something else must give."

"My Slytherins, naturally," he grumbled, still annoyed. _No surprise there_. "If only it could be the school instead…"

"Severus," Minerva started, sounding exasperated now, but he waved her away.

"Only wishful thinking. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good, because even if Albus _hadn't_ outright refused the idea of your resignation, I would have," she said, smirking slightly. "And I believe procedure calls for my signature, as well."

"Pulling rank? How very Slytherin of you," said Severus wearily, but he was glad they could bicker about something properly.

"I won't say I wasn't considered for Slytherin."

"And you ended up in _Gryffindor_? The hat must have been having an off day."

Minerva shrugged. "I chose it. It often leaves such decisions up to personal preference if the choice isn't always obvious—at least, so I've heard."

Severus had nothing to say to this, so he settled for trying his chocolate again, glad to find that it had cooled somewhat. They sat in silence for a while, before Minerva heaved a sigh, and he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"I was just wondering when I'll know how—how many of my new Gryffindors would have been yours," she finished quietly, looking apologetic.

Severus ignored the sharp pang beneath his ribs. "None, I suspect," he answered instead. "It's not your fault the Dark Lord got to them first."

"No, I mean the first years," said Minerva. "Nearly all expected were present—there should have been at least some of them heading to Slytherin. But I saw...well, you remember what it was like...it's terrifying enough wondering where you'll go, with all four houses present. Can you imagine being picked to be in a house alone? It's no wonder they were frightened. I wouldn't have had the courage to stand out like that, right after arriving."

"If any of them had, they likely would have really belonged in Gryffindor, anyway," Severus mumbled.

"Fair enough."

They lapsed into silence again, Severus eyeing the witch across from him. She seemed perfectly at ease—not at all uncomfortable in front of the house elves in her night things, nor by the quiet. He, on the other hand, felt the awkwardness of the situation creeping up on him again; he hardly knew her as more than a colleague, and yet here they were, calmly discussing matters as though they were intimate friends. He wondered vaguely whether breaking down in front of her had given her some odd sense of being closer, and why the hell he was allowing this nonsense, but his snide remark on her choice of companionship for the night was forestalled by the yawn that slipped out instead.

Minerva spared him a glance that was just hard enough not to be considered pity. "You should get some sleep, Severus. It's very late."

"Is it late enough for Dumbledore to have given up for the night?" he sighed, getting to his feet.

"Of course. We have classes in a few hours."

"That hasn't stopped him before," said Severus irritably, but it was time to leave nonetheless. He paused near the door. "Goodnight, Minerva."

He didn't linger to hear her reply, but quickly discovered that she had been right; Albus was gone by the time he made it back to his quarters. Severus allowed himself a slight sigh before he headed for his bedroom, wondering just how much of this he could take before his position drove him utterly mad. At the moment, his prospects didn't look promising, and perhaps that was why he was less annoyed than he should have been by his honesty with Minerva. She had seen difficult years before; she was, if not precisely a kindred spirit, another survivor; if she could face her dragons and come out all right, he certainly could as well.

Couldn't he?

It was a troubling thought, and one that tormented him long past climbing into bed. He had to keep going—he had no choice—and yet, he felt horribly as though he were only trying to convince himself. He eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep, made all the worse for knowing that whatever he did, it was going to be a very difficult year indeed.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks very much for reading! As usual, I will update when I can, and comments/questions/etc. are welcome in the meantime.


	2. To Another Year

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, it's JKR's. The other weirdness is mine, for which you can be thankful, because I doubt you would have wanted the Harry Potter series going like this instead. :)

**Author's Note:** I forgot to mention last chapter that elements from HBP and DH may appear, though I can't think of any in this chapter off the top of my head. Also, this was originally meant to be much, _much_, longer, but due to the fact that a 5,000+ word opening chapter is not necessarily a good standard (and definitely not a challenge), some will have to wait until later. If you're still here and reading despite my issues with verbosity…enjoy. :)

* * *

Minerva's eagerness for a new term was often enough to eclipse the weariness of staying up almost the full night before, and this year was no exception. The faces changed from year to year, but she greatly enjoyed the expressions that would invariably appear in the first few class periods: the shyness and wonder of the first years, the slight superiority of the second years (though quickly replaced with horror at finding out that, yes, they did in fact have a _lot_ more to learn over the next six years), the determination of those taking O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s within the next few months, a few smiles from familiar students that genuinely enjoyed her classes. Despite knowing she would be feeling ready to strangle the lot of them come Christmas holidays, for now, it was a new year, and she was glad to be back.

Naturally, it would be different, though. There would be more security and general busyness, what with Voldemort out in the open, but at least Umbridge was no longer in residence to terrorise them all. Of course, there was still likely to be much strife, considering Albus had harangued Alastor into taking Defence—she was positive she would have to pull him and Severus apart at some point—but that, at least, was manageable. She'd been dealing with illegal duelling in the corridors for years.

And then the classes. She frowned slightly as she prepared the parchments that would detail all the students' schedules and the staff's rosters. There was no way in hell she was going to attempt rearranging the timetables to split class sizes evenly—whatever classes would have been held with the Slytherins would just have to be smaller. That would be unusual, but, privately, she almost wondered whether it wasn't better, in some way; the younger Hufflepuffs might be able to focus in her classes without being in terror of sabotage or ridicule. Of course, Severus would be _thrilled_ about teaching the Gryffindors alone, but there was nothing else for it. She'd find some way to make it up to him, if he'd let her.

"Professor McGonagall, Mistress?"

The parchments nearly went flying as Nimsy appeared with a sharp _crack_; Minerva had to juggle awkwardly to keep them in her arms.

"Nimsy—what—?"

"Nimsy is sorry, Mistress, I is not meaning to startle!" the elf said. "I is not meaning to come, but Professor Dumbledore is telling me to give you this; he is saying it cannot wait!"

"What on earth?" Minerva muttered to herself, but she took the proffered letter. "Thank you, Nimsy."

The elf vanished as abruptly as she had come, leaving Minerva to frown at the envelope. It was not like Albus to use the elves—it truly couldn't wait, then—but it wasn't urgent enough to warrant a Patronus. Perhaps it was a reminder, or something he'd forgotten to ask her, or (she suppressed a flash of hope) a suggestion on how to better handle this year's timetables?

She slit open the missive and was nearly disappointed; there were only a few short lines in Albus's loopy script. As she read, however, she felt her eyebrows reach for her hair. It _was_ about the scheduling, of course, but…

Hell, giving Severus the entirety of Gringotts wasn't going to make up for this.

What a lovely way to start the morning.

* * *

If he hadn't known better, Severus would have thought that it was a particularly hellish time of year, and not the start of a new term (though, now he considered it, they weren't _that _much different). He threw himself into his seat at the high table and scowled into his teacup, wondering how on earth the diminished ranks of students could be just as loud and obnoxious as they were when the Great Hall was full.

His head ached with lack of sleep, and he barely inclined his head to Minerva's nod. He felt Albus's eyes upon him, and Alastor was glaring from the other end of the table, but he ignored them both and reached for the toast instead. It tasted little better than parchment to him at the moment, but he didn't relish the idea of passing out during classes; knowing his luck, he'd have several solid hours in a row, and attempting to face them without sustenance seemed an absurd temptation of fate.

He didn't look up until he heard Minerva clear her throat, somewhat impatiently, and realised that she had left her seat and was standing before him with what was presumably his class register for the year. He took it without thanks and set it aside; he had no desire to see which of his students he'd have to face first until absolutely necessary. Beside him, Filius sighed.

"Always the worst Mondays…ah, well. I'll earn my drink at the end of the day. Will you be joining us this year, Severus?"

Severus started to shake his head, but Aurora Sinistra piped up from Filius's other side. "Yes, Severus, why not? Surely you can't already have essays to mark?"

"Perhaps not, but I am otherwise occupied," he declined, rather impressed with himself for keeping his sneer to a minimum.

"Oho, is that what they're calling dark deeds these day? Being 'occupied'?" said Alastor loudly. Aurora, Charity, and Bathsheda looked rather nervous at being caught in the middle of the conversation; Filius muttered an excuse and hopped off his stack of cushions, scurrying away as quickly as dignity would permit.

"Poppy still needs potions for the hospital wing," said Severus coldly, gripping his cup so tightly he feared it might shatter. "I'm afraid I'm a bit behind this year."

Alastor stuffed his roster into his coat pocket and got to his feet. "Ah, well, I guess it happens, what with your other master…ask you to brew him some poisons first, did he? Pity."

"Fuck off, Moody," Severus hissed softly, ignoring the scandalised looks of his colleagues.

"Same to you, Snape, same to you…if you'll excuse me… Got to go see if I can undo some of the damage Umbridge did last year—though at least they never let _you_ teach Defence, thank God…" Alastor growled as he stumped away.

Severus reached for his schedule and clutched it tightly to keep his hands from shaking. It wasn't fair, just how quickly Alastor could get under his skin; he was annoyed with himself as much as anything, though not nearly as angry as he was at Albus. He could have at least _tried_ calling in other favours—or, God forbid, asking Severus himself—before picking the paranoid ex-Auror to traumatise the Defence classes…

At least, thought Severus miserably, he wouldn't have to put much effort into the students this week. It was a simple matter of intimidating the new ones and re-establishing a healthy fear in the others; then, watching them carefully as they attempted to brew a potion while clearly having forgotten everything he'd ever told them before. Thankfully, Longbottom was no longer an issue…in fact, his N.E.W.T. classes would likely be the smallest he'd ever seen, seeing as it had mostly been his Slytherins that had done well in his classes…

He finally let himself peruse the schedule, smirking slightly as he realised he would be able to terrify the first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs first thing, but then froze in horror as he read further down the week and found his 6th year N.E.W.T. classes.

_What the hell?_

No. There had to be a mistake. He would get Minerva to set it right—and then it dawned on him that she had not actually said anything to him this morning, which, for her, essentially meant she was _trying_ to ignore him…_She knew_.

Furious, he stalked from the table and found her finishing handing out the students' timetables; they scattered at his approach, but she didn't even flinch as he caught her by the arm.

"What is the meaning of this, Minerva?" he hissed threateningly.

She took her time in turning to face him, the spots of pink high on her cheeks confirming his suspicions, but her eyes flashed in indignation nonetheless.

"You're hurting me, Professor Snape," she said calmly, nodding to his fingers. He very much doubted it—the look on her face said all too clearly she was warning him not to make a scene—but he loosened his grip nonetheless.

"I asked you about the meaning of this, Professor," he snarled, waving his roster beneath her nose. "Did I not explicitly specify, as I do every year, that _only_ students receiving an 'Outstanding' on their O.W.L.s would be admitted to N.E.W.T. level?"

"You did," said Minerva levelly.

"Then _why_," he spat, "is Potter's name on my list, Minerva? He did not receive an 'Outstanding' on his Potions O.W.L. You _know_ he did not."

"I am aware of it, yes."

"_Why is Potter's name on this list?_"

Minerva drew herself up. "I am afraid I cannot accommodate your usual policy, Professor Snape," she said curtly. "The headmaster specifically requested an exception this morning. There's nothing you can do—the boy _will_ be in your class, whether you think he can cope with the material or not."

Severus turned to glare at Albus, but the headmaster had disappeared from the hall. _Damn him_. Before he could round on Minerva again, however, he felt her hand press his back lightly, the movement easily concealed by their voluminous robes.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she said in an undertone. "I didn't know—truly. I'll speak with Albus."

"Forgive me if my hopes aren't high," he muttered. He nodded to her and strode from the hall, needing to hurry now to make it to his dungeons in time. He could scarcely believe that Albus was trying to make this difficult for him…what had been the point in waiting until the last moment to show favouritism to Potter? If he hadn't known better, he would have thought Albus had done it to deliberately annoy him...

Scowling, he threw open the door to his classroom and barely registered the looks of adolescent terror that greeted his entrance.

"Silence," he snapped unnecessarily. "Now…whatever you may have been led to believe about magic, you will find that there will be no foolish wand waving in this class…"

* * *

"Oops. Sorry, Seamus."

At N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration, 'oops' was one of the least welcome things for the supervisor to hear. Unfortunately, it was also one of the most common.

Minerva sighed and immediately righted the errant spell. "No matter, Mr. Thomas…However, _do_ try and aim for your hedgehog next time, and not your classmate, won't you? As you can see, this spell isn't really meant for human transfiguration."

"Yes, Ma'am," mumbled Dean, dodging the half-hearted swipe Seamus made at him. Minerva shot a warning look at them both and nodded to their hedgehogs.

"Well, keep at it, then. You've both still got a ways to go, I see."

In truth, so did most of the class, but she ignored the fact that they all should have known cross-species transfiguration by now and let them go on reviewing—as long as they didn't socialise too much. And, on the whole, making rounds while they practised was less tedious than lecturing to a sea of vacant faces.

"Oh, Harry, just ask her about it!" said Hermione in exasperation, as Minerva approached the table near the front of the class. "What are you so afraid of?"

"I can think of something—" started Ron in an undertone, but Minerva cleared her throat.

"Well done, Miss Granger," she said, indicating the flock of brilliantly coloured parakeets preening themselves on the desk; the boys' hedgehogs ignored them. "Potter, Weasley, let's see some effort."

The boys flushed and poked at their hedgehogs; Ron's sprouted wings and a feathery tail, while Harry's at least took the form of a parakeet, though still retained its spikes. Minerva raised an eyebrow.

"A little more practise, I think. Carry on."

The remainder of the period passed in much the same vein, Minerva occasionally correcting a technique or fixing a minor mishap. She was pleased to see that nearly everyone managed a parakeet by the end of the hour, though, and confidently set them to researching methods of non-verbal transfiguration before their next lesson.

"Er…Professor?"

She looked up from gathering her books to see Harry standing at her desk, rather nervously.

"What can I do for you, Potter?"

"Er…well, I think there's been a mistake."

Minerva had the feeling she knew where this was going, and she desperately wished he would leave it alone, but it wouldn't do to take it out on the boy. She peered at him sternly.

"I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate, should you wish for me to be of any service."

He pulled the parchment she had given him that morning from his bag. "It's just—I'm signed up for Potions."

"Well, you do need it in order to apply for Auror training—unless that is no longer your ambition?"

"Yes, I mean—it is, but I thought you said I had to get an 'O' on my O.W.L. to keep taking Potions. I didn't."

Minerva stared at him for a long minute. She was very well aware of what would happen if it got out looking like favouritism; it would be tricky enough as it was without the politics of dealing with other angry students. She hoped Hermione's good sense and tact had rubbed off on him more than she had had cause to witness during her classes…

"I am aware of your marks, Potter, and believe me—Professor Snape is as well. However, it is the headmaster's wish that you continue your studies in Potions for the time being, and so he has made an exception."

Harry blinked. "What—why?"

"He has his reasons, I suppose, though he has not shared them with me," said Minerva. "Needless to say, it is highly unusual. I trust I do not need to stress how much this should _not_ become common knowledge?"

"Of course not, Professor. I—thanks."

"I had no hand in it. Try and make the most of this opportunity, though, won't you?" she said briskly, and shooed him out of the door before her. "And—Potter—" She stopped, unsure of how to phrase her warning, and wondering just for whom she was giving it.

"I am aware that telling you to keep your head down in class in the past has been only marginally successful," she said wryly, "but please at least _attempt_ to keep out from under Professor Snape's feet. He's got a lot on his mind."

The slightly sheepish grin on Harry's face vanished immediately. "Does he know if—what happened to the Slytherins, Professor?"

"I wish I could confidently tell you it is none of your concern, Potter, but they _are_ your classmates. Suffice it to say Professor Dumbledore is doing what he can, and would appreciate it if rumours were not passed around carelessly. Now…I suggest you hurry, if you intend on making it to your next class on time," Minerva finished.

She watched Harry rush away, and bit her lip at the guilty twinge in her chest; much as she wished it to be so, she was not at all sure that Albus was doing everything that could possibly be done. The image of Severus's agitated face swam in the forefront of her mind again, and she sighed—she needed to speak with Albus as soon as she could.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you; don't be shy about saying hello. ;)


	3. Toasts and Tantrums

Disclaimer: Nope. Still JKR's, and not mine.

Author's Note: Hey there! Sorry about the wait on this one—life and all that; excuses you probably don't want to hear. Apologies also for verbosity again…this is what happens when I push things into chapters where they weren't originally intended to go. *facepalm* Anyway…enjoy!

* * *

"You are dismissed. And, thanks to your classmate, you can all add a roll of parchment on why it is important _not_ to assume Harpan's methodology is appropriate for potions requiring moonstone," snapped Severus, pleased to see that his current class looked too stricken to complain about the extra homework.

Merlin, his head _hurt_. His temper had not been improved by his Gryffindor O.W.L. class finding new ways to muck up the simplest instructions, and he longed for nothing more at the moment than to get them out of his sight, down a painkilling potion, and crawl back to his quarters. Though the latter certainly wouldn't be possible, he was heartened to see that his students were at least fleeing the room as quickly as possible, and he _did_ have a few analgesics in the top drawer of his desk, even if he'd wanted to use them sparingly…

_The hell with it._

Within moments, he'd found one of the phials and downed it, shuddering slightly at its bitterness.

"Disgusting, aren't they?"

Severus whirled at the cheerful voice from the doorway, scowling at the pink-haired woman he saw there. Her grin faded slightly.

"Hey, I'm only saying. You look like you could use it, though."

"What are you doing here, Nymphadora?" hissed Severus.

"It's Tonks, Professor," she said irritably. "Anyway…I just got off duty in Hogsmeade; I figured I'd see if Dumbledore needed anything. And, er…well, I heard about the Slytherins," she finished quietly. "It's true, then."

"Obviously," Severus snapped, in no mood for false pity.

"Yeah, well, I'm—we'll be keeping our ears out in the Ministry, if you don't hear anything your end. Just thought you should know."

"Is there a particular reason that you felt the need to torment me in person?"

"I wasn't going to," said Tonks defensively. "I just thought—never mind."

"_What?_"

"I saw Professor McGonagall on the way down, that's all. She said you and Dumbledore weren't talking. God, I'm sorry I tried to do you a favour."

Severus nearly gaped at her. He couldn't believe Minerva had said anything—_that was private, dammit_—but then, of course, there were rarely secrets amongst the women of the Order. He fixed Tonks with a scowl, and made a mental note to catch Minerva after dinner.

"Save your consideration for your werewolf," he said coldly, pleased to see that he struck a nerve; Tonks stiffened in indignation. "I'm told animals enjoy such things."

"Leave Remus out of this, Snape—" she started, but Severus did not linger to hear her; he swept from the room in a fit of grim satisfaction. Clumsy and garrulous though she was, she was good Auror stock—harder to disturb than most, which he had learnt early on, to his annoyance. For her to be genuinely upset meant that her recent attempts for Lupin were going very badly indeed, and he was not at all sorry for calling her on it. She had no right to come here and rub his nose in the loss of his Slytherins, none whatsoever.

And Minerva had no right to go shouting about his private business to the rest of the Order. Merlin, she'd be telling Molly he'd been bawling after the Welcome Feast next.

_Well, you were, _said the nasty voice in the back of his mind. He pushed it aside and scowled. She had no idea what it was like, looking out at a half-empty classroom and wondering how many of those missing were soon to be dead, if they weren't already—she had probably enjoyed not having them in class!

Likely, too, she believed he knew more than he was letting on, Severus thought angrily. As if he would conceal something of such importance…. As if he wasn't worried more than most that he, supposedly so trusted by the Dark Lord, had heard neither of any plans to press the Slytherins into service, nor had any word from the Death Eaters' camp now that the deed had been done.

The thought made his stomach swoop in anxiety; he cast a quick glance around to ensure he was alone and rolled up his left sleeve. The scar on his forearm was as faded as it typically was, and he couldn't help but wonder whether this might, for the first time, have made him more afraid than when it burned black.

He covered the ugly mark quickly and stalked to his office. He had enough time to start his potions for Poppy before dinner—and then, he thought grimly, then he would find Minerva.

Whatever this bad business with his Slytherins, she had to keep her nose out of it.

* * *

"To another year, then."

"May the dull moments be few."

"Ah, scratch that, Rolanda, our classes can be far too exciting already," said Pomona.

"Very well. May our classes be dull and our _Quidditch_ exciting."

Aurora shook her head. "That seems a bit moot, doesn't it?" she said delicately. "It's already about as exciting as any sport can be."

"Oy, now, don't have a go at it simply because you don't—"

"TO ANOTHER YEAR!" roared Filius, raising his glass in a salute and promptly toppling from his stack of cushions.

Despite herself, Minerva had to fight a grin. Everyone became significantly less professional after a flagon of Rosmerta's Finest Mead or two, and Filius was notoriously bad at holding his liquor. It seemed very much as though they always fought over the same toasts from year to year, as well, though she was almost tempted to cause a stir and start drinking to their sanity instead.

She put down her goblet. "Are you all right, Filius?"

"Fine!" he squeaked from somewhere on the other side of his chair. Pomona craned her neck to look at him.

"You'll feel that in the morning, I expect…but never mind. It's all right, Minerva, he's only a hundred years young."

"God forbid," she muttered. "I don't think I've had that much energy in years, and he's got several decades on me."

"Oh, nonsense," said Pomona airily, "You just haven't found your second wind yet…not that you need it; you don't look a day over forty-five."

"Thank you, Pomona," said Minerva wryly.

"No, it's true. Besides, that doesn't mean a thing—ages are all relative, anyway. Look at Severus. He might as well be twice what he is."

"Here, now, don't be harsh," slurred Filius as he picked himself up off the rug. "He's had a rough life. 'Sno wonder he looks a bit older… Of course, I haven't seen any of his class in ages."

"Alice McCurran was asking about him a few weeks ago," said Pomona.

Aurora tilted her head in interest. "Alice? The Ravenclaw that was always running around with Glenda Chittock's gang? I liked her—have you been in contact all this time?"

"Only recently," said Pomona, a slight flush spreading over her face, which quickly dissolved into a grin. "Ansel was engaged to her last week."

It was clear she had been bursting to share the news; a moment of silence greeted her pronouncement, followed by hearty congratulations on all sides.

"Oh, Pomona, that's wonderful!"

"I can't believe you kept it from us this long!"

"He's your nephew, is that right?" said Bathsheda, looking up from her card game with Charity and Septima in the corner.

Pomona beamed. "Yes—his mother kept him for home education, though; it's a shame you never met him…He met Alice last year at some conference or another, and they'd been seeing each other since. Oh, Poppy is going to kill me for telling it when she's not in the room," she added anxiously, but Septima shook her head.

"It's all right. We won't say a word until you do."

"Speaking of Poppy," said Minerva quickly, as Charity opened her mouth to undoubtedly begin her high-pitched giggling, "I'm afraid I must follow her example—there's simply too much to do. Same time next year then, I suppose…. Congratulations again, Pomona. Pass on my best wishes to them both."

She waved at the chorus of "goodnights" and left, trying to think of some reason to delay her meeting with Albus further, but she was unable to do so. Rather, the memory of Severus's dejected face from the night before turned her steps towards Albus's office instead of her own, and she set her jaw grimly.

If this was going to be as uncomfortable for her as she expected, she could at least make sure Albus felt the same.

* * *

Severus waited until he had safely set aside his stirring rod and lowered the flame underneath the cauldron before mopping at his face; he had seen far too many potions ruined by an errant drop of sweat not to be cautious about accidentally contaminating his equipment. True, Pepperup was relatively simple, and he was not very far along in the process, but he had neither the time nor the patience to deal with a wasted batch of potions at the moment.

Pulling up a stool to wait for it to boil, he glanced at the clock and nearly snorted with annoyance; it was late, too late for dinner or to catch Minerva before she returned to her office. While he was saved the trouble of avoiding Albus's eyes in the Great Hall, Severus really had hoped to be finished with Poppy's potions by now, and the fact that he hadn't managed it did nothing for the anxiety gnawing at his stomach.

He frowned and resisted the urge to roll up his left sleeve again. The mark would not have changed; it had not burned, or itched, or caused him any sort of feeling to give him pause whatsoever; had he not known better, he would have thought the Dark Lord had disappeared for good and taken the mark with him.

It was a very foolish idea, of course. The Dark Lord was alive and stronger than ever. But there was still the horrible thought of being…cut off. Exposed as a spy, left in ignorance until the Dark Lord saw fit to deal with him, the silence broken only by a call that would be his last…

He shook himself and made a point of staring into the potion—no bubbles yet—but he could not settle his nerves. He desperately wanted to contact Lucius, and had even fetched a quill from the other end of his workbench before remembering that Lucius was in Azkaban.

He let the quill fall back onto the table. If he could not contact Lucius, there was little point in trying to get information from anyone else; his best allies, if they could be called such, were also in Azkaban, and those that were free and likely knew something about the Slytherins were unlikely to tell him anything if the Dark Lord had not bothered to do so. Unless…well, Narcissa was not directly involved, but she very well could know something…and she was slightly more trustworthy—

A loud hissing interrupted his thoughts; the Pepperup looked nearly about to boil over. He leapt from his seat with a muffled curse and hurried to stir it, thankfully in time to salvage it, but he was disgruntled all the same. Only two batches in, and already distracted beyond belief…

_Two left_, he told himself. _Two more._ _Fever tonic and burn salve. That's it._ And then…what? Relax? The idea was laughable. Sit and worry until he nodded off from exhaustion, more like.

He sighed and reached for the asphodel. Somehow, he was glad there was still work to be done.

* * *

"Minerva, my dear. Come in."

She could tell something was very wrong before she had even stepped into the office; Albus's voice was heavy with anxiety in a most un-Albuslike way. She pushed aside her own concerns at the moment and frowned at the letter clutched loosely in his hands.

"Albus, what is it?"

He set the parchment aside. "It seems our recent change of regime has not prevented the Ministry from contacting me at all hours," he said wearily.

"Ach, those hypocrites; I _knew_ Scrimgeour should not have been—"

"He is a good man," said Albus mildly, "and I am grateful that, at least in this case, he and Fudge have decided to keep me directly informed. There has been another mass breakout from Azkaban."

Minerva gasped. "Already? I know it was only a matter of time, what with You-Know-Who out in the open, but surely—"

"He is moving quickly, Minerva—almost more so than I would have expected. After all, he has had an entire year to lie in wait and plan. He did not mean to fail in the Ministry last June, but he would have prepared for failure nonetheless; in any case, he could not have remained hidden for much longer."

"Well, he's certainly making up for it now," Minerva said before she could stop herself. "He got all of them out, then? Lucius Malfoy and the rest?"

Albus nodded. "Yes—quite curious, considering he is likely still angry with them for their failure in the Department of Mysteries, but then, as he seems intent on building an army so soon—" the thought of the missing Slytherin students hung in the room, unspoken—"it would be more prudent for him to regain their service than to punish them by keeping them locked away and useless."

"Let me guess," started Minerva wryly. "The Ministry has no idea how it happened."

"Yes and no. It was a very well planned attack; they were fortunate, I think, that control of Azkaban is not one of Voldemort's more immediate goals. He would have taken it easily—they were inside and gone again before anyone knew they were there. The guards had no warning whatsoever." Albus's forehead creased in a frown. "I wonder that Severus did not—"

"Severus did not know," said Minerva firmly. "I'm sure of it. He would have said something, Albus, you know he would have…just like with the Slytherins," she added cautiously, watching the lines of Albus's face to gauge his reaction. "He didn't know anything before the deed was done, and unless he's told you something I don't know, he still doesn't know what's going on."

"That is not particularly comforting, Minerva."

"You don't mean to say that you don't believe him?" she said, incredulous.

"No—I do. But if Voldemort is withholding information, he clearly is being more careful about the possibility of a spy in his ranks. Let us hope that Severus's recent lack of inclusion in his plans is more a general precautionary measure than direct suspicion."

"Of course," agreed Minerva, unsettled, wondering how she should continue; confronting Albus Dumbledore had never been one of her favourite pastimes. "But—Albus, I don't mean this the way it's going to sound, but—if he's under so much pressure from You-Know-Who, it—it would be best if you—oh, Albus, for heaven's sake, he needs your support."

Albus raised an eyebrow. "I would like to think that I have done my best, where he is concerned—"

"I highly doubt Severus would agree," said Minerva sharply. "I know you have had your disagreements in the past, Albus, but with your stance on the Slytherins—I've never seen him so upset."

"As I have told him, I am doing what I can."

"Which is _what_? You certainly seem in no hurry to recover them," she said, quite aware that she was likely being both unfair and hypocritical, "and I—well, I cannot say that the day did not go many times more smoothly without them—but they are our _students!_ Regardless of their creed, or their parents'—"

"Minerva, I _know_ they are our responsibility. Severus seems unwilling to believe me—"

"I can't imagine why!"

"—but I cannot do anything until I know the full extent of the situation. He knows this," said Albus, impatience plain in his voice now. Minerva bit her lip in an attempt to calm herself.

"I know he does, deep down," she said finally, quietly, "and I do as well. I just can't help but wonder, Albus, whether knowing the _full extent of the situation_ is for their benefit, or your own."

Albus's eyes were the only things betraying his resentment; Minerva hated herself for causing it.

"Minerva, my dear, that is not fair."

"No. No, it is not. I—do not look at me like that, Albus, I know things cannot always work out as we wish on all fronts, that sacrifices sometimes must be made for the greater good—but I'm asking you to reconsider your opinion. There must be a way to make a greater effort towards the Slytherins without putting your grand scheme at risk. For Severus's sake, if not theirs."

"Whatever his objections, Severus is well aware—"

"Severus has had just about enough," snapped Minerva suddenly; she longed to leave the room, to retreat before she said anything worse, but she knew she could not, yet. Not before she made good on her word to Severus. "And so have I, Albus. We allow you to lead us and use us because you are a good man, and the best hope we have, but that does _not_ mean we cannot see your machinations—for whatever good they may be intended. But I warn you now: if you push Severus much further, he will give out, or give up, and then what will become of your plans?"

Albus remained silent, and Minerva could not tell if he was seriously considering her words or simply waiting for her to finish ranting. Nonetheless, she ploughed onwards.

"He needs your support now more than ever—and I know you cannot give it, not fully—but for heaven's sake, must you make things more difficult? Why on _earth_ did you wait until this morning to tell us you were making yet another exception for Potter being in his class? It's no wonder he thought you were deliberately antagonising him."

Albus sighed. "I admit, my delay was not wise, though there was no real way to broach the subject without causing disagreement."

"Not wise? I see no reason for Potter to be in Potions at all! He missed the required marks, and the likelihood of him surviving long enough to become an Auror is—"

"Less than most even know, but there is no reason to give up, to not allow him to plan for the future. The idea that he has something to work towards, after all of this, can certainly not go amiss."

"And you do so by placing him in a class where he does not belong, where both he and Severus will be miserable?"

"They have tolerated each other for five years. One or two more will not break either of them."

Minerva snorted. "Even you cannot seriously claim that."

"I can hope."

"Albus, do not make this difficult! Severus has more objections than I; what will you tell him, once he decides to raise them? You cannot continue to dismiss his concerns!"

"Minerva…"

"Albus, please. For once, stop being so damn noble, and see to those that depend on you. This is not as it was with me—there are more than personal feelings at stake, this time. As it is, you have already pushed Severus too far. Please, just give him what victories you can."

"You know I will, Minerva. When I can."

Minerva stared at him for a long moment, incensed beyond belief. It was ridiculous; did he really believe his own judgment was so faultless, to keep dismissing the matter? Had he been working towards the greater good for so long that he could no longer see the strife his agendas often caused for others—or did he no longer care? Minerva suppressed a scathing noise with difficulty.

"I take that to mean you're not going change a thing?" she said finally, though she didn't really mean it as a question; as she feared, Albus said nothing. Unable to bear the stubborn gleam in his eyes, she turned and left without another word.

She hadn't really expected him to have done with his irritation with Severus yet—after all, she doubted that Severus was in any hurry to talk to _him_—but still, his blatant refusal to see reason was absurd. Hadn't he hired her, years ago, as an advisor? Someone to help mediate conflicts with the staff?

_Of course, I should have realised that it doesn't apply to _him, she thought bitterly; _rules rarely do._ And it wasn't as though she had been telling him to do anything rash—for Merlin's sake, she was barely asking for more than courtesy!

She sighed and abruptly switched directions halfway to her rooms. It wasn't late, per se, but she wouldn't likely be able to settle to anything, and she was far too riled to try turning in early. No doubt Poppy was still awake, though, and she would have plenty of sleeping draughts at hand…yes…anything that prevented her from thinking of Albus for the rest of the night was fine with her.

* * *

"Ah, Severus, good; I was wondering when you were going to bring up the rest," said Poppy, clearing a space for him to set the crate of freshly brewed potions. "Not that there was any hurry, mind you," she added quickly. "I know you're a busy man."

"Your stock of potions has always been my responsibility. That will not change."

"I know," said Poppy, "and, as always, I am grateful. It's only—well, I thought that this year, what with—things—if you ever need any help, Severus, I can manage myself—"

He silenced her with a glare. "I will have far less to do as far as my House is concerned, and significantly less essays to mark. I am perfectly capable of supplying you as I have always done."

"I—I didn't mean to imply you weren't," she said uneasily, "but—oh, never mind. I'm sorry I said anything."

Severus fought back a stab of irritation; she was, in truth, a kind and invaluable ally, and she didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his temper no matter what her meddling tendencies. He swallowed his intended snide remark and helped her unpack the crate instead.

"Will you be needing anything else?"

Poppy shook her head. "Not any time soon, unless someone manages to do something _supremely_ stupid—"

"Next week at the latest, then."

"—but otherwise, I should be fine, thank you...Minerva! What can I do for you?"

Severus looked around at the door; he had not heard Minerva enter. She looked tired and harassed, but now would be as good a time as any to speak with her—no point in waiting until she was in a better mood, only to ruin it. She nodded to him and smiled at Poppy.

"A sleeping draught, if you don't mind," she said. "And—I don't know if you've seen Pomona?"

"Yes," said Poppy, beaming. "She stopped by—oh, about a half hour ago. It's wonderful!"

"I'm sorry?" said Severus, looking between them.

"Her nephew," Minerva explained. "He's just been engaged."

Severus was nonplussed. He did not know much about Pomona's family, nor was he keen to learn anything more; neither was he particularly enamoured of marriage. He no longer knew what to feel every time he heard of a new matching or saw a married couple—if their expectations of love were little more than illusions, at least they were pleasant illusions. And if it was real…well, they were one more pair with a happiness he had never had, and probably never would.

"That's…I'll have to ask her to pass on my congratulations," he said finally, hoping he did not sound as unenthusiastic as he felt; judging by Poppy's expression, he was failing quite miserably.

She waved him away from her shelves. "Off with you. I can handle the rest," she said, indicating the crate. He stole a glance at Minerva and hesitated; it did not seem as though she had any intention of leaving immediately—after all, she still needed her potion—but he still wanted to speak with her sooner rather than later. Hoping he wasn't pushing his luck, he nodded to her and left as slowly as he dared, listening to Poppy muttering something about "men" and "never understanding these things."

He scowled as the door fell shut behind him and he leaned against the wall to wait for Minerva. Well, he _didn't_ understand—what was the point in being so damnably giggly about some ceremony, especially at their age? He knew himself well enough to know he was long past any thoughts of marriage, and they had to feel the same—though, come to think of it, he'd never bothered to learn whether they had ever considered it at some point in their lives.

Thankfully, the door creaked within minutes, pulling him from his brooding, and Minerva jumped upon seeing him.

"I'm sorry, Severus—I didn't realise you were waiting for me! Are you—is everything all right?"

"No," he said, rather more shortly than he'd intended. "No, it is not. I spoke to Nymphadora earlier today."

Minerva looked startled. "She saw you? She told me she only wanted to report to Albus."

"And you told her about our row," said Severus, unable to keep himself from snapping at her. "That is none of her business. You had no right."

"I did no such thing," said Minerva, "and, really, it's not as though it wouldn't be expected. She asked whether you had said much to us, and when I told her no, she assumed that meant you and Albus were probably arguing about it privately."

"You didn't bother to correct her, though, did you?"

"What was I supposed to do, Severus? I confirmed that you and Albus hadn't talked recently. Nothing more."

"What you were _supposed to do_ is keep your nose out of my business, Minerva, not help Nymphadora along the way!"

"_Your_ business? So it's not mine, as well? For heaven's sake, Severus, last night—"

"Last night I was not myself," he hissed, shamed by the memory, but more so by seeing Minerva's eyes widen in hurt. "I was—worried, you know I was; I didn't know what the hell was going on—I still don't—but the point is, you haven't got the slightest idea either. You had _no right_ to say _anything_ to _anyone_ about any of this!"

Minerva recovered herself quickly. "Very well, so I _don't_ know what's going on," she said coolly, drawing herself up to her full height, "but it's no less than you. Unless—?" She nodded to his arm.

Severus involuntarily gripped the place where the Dark Mark was branded into his skin and scowled; he needed no reminder of his greatest worry. "I haven't heard a thing," he hissed. "But if that should change—damn it, Minerva, this is far too dangerous to be—"

"I am aware of that."

"The hell you are!" he spat. "You've got to stay out of this, Minerva. It's going to be complicated enough for me to get hold of the Slytherins' real position without getting us all killed. Do _not_ make it more difficult."

"They're my students too, Severus."

He barely suppressed a snort. "Don't try that," he snarled. "Don't pretend you give a damn what happens to them, just like Albus—"

"And don't _you_ dare pretend you know what I feel towards them, or you, or anyone else in this castle!" Minerva snapped right back, her composure finally slipping; Severus was momentarily startled by her vehemence. She looked so very tired and distressed, even more so than he had expected—perhaps he had miscalculated? But surely she couldn't have known and loved his Slytherins as well as he…

He searched for something to say, but could not find it before she continued.

"In case you haven't noticed, Severus, I'm on your side. I _want_ them to be all right. I want you to come back from You-Know-Who bringing all of them with you, without _him_ being any the wiser. If you could all be safe—"

"I'm glad you've learnt Albus's talent for saying exactly what you think people want to hear."

"I fought with him for an hour on your behalf tonight. An _hour_, Severus!"

"I—that's—" he faltered, seeing the unnatural brightness in her eyes; it was becoming all too clear why she was upset, and he was aware that he was looking more foolish by the second. He hated being made to look foolish.

"That's your own affair," he snapped finally. "I did not ask for your help."

"_Fine!_" shouted Minerva. "Fine! Keep pretending you can do it all on your own, then! Keep fighting with Albus, and see where it gets you—!"

"If you think I can just let this go—"

"—and don't you _dare_ come complaining, after you're deliberately making things difficult! Either you want our help or you don't, Severus, but _stop_ pushing us away and then acting like we're against you. For heaven's sake, we should be working together!"

"I—" Severus found himself uncharacteristically lost for words; Minerva looked on the verge of tears, her hands balled into fists and trembling, but he could remember few other situations in which he had felt genuinely frightened of her. "I don't—no—he—he doesn't want—"

"Oh, I am sick to death of the both of you!" she said fiercely. "You're both so—_bloody—stubborn!_"

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs, leaving Severus utterly taken aback.

_What the _hell _was that?_ he thought dazedly. All right, so perhaps he _shouldn't_ have pushed her, after having seen that she was clearly agitated—but then, Minerva was not usually one to be hysterical. And how was he to have known she'd fought with Albus? It was simply…unfortunate timing.

Damn.

He scowled and headed for his dungeons. Why did his best ally at the moment have to be the one person he managed to infuriate on a nearly daily basis?

_And why the hell do I care?_

* * *

Author's Note: As always, thanks for reading! Feedback is welcome, encouraged, and may be rewarded by a virtual homemade biscuit and a gold star. ;)


	4. Summonings

Disclaimer: All JKR's. JKR =/= me, sadly. Just having fun. Any typos and/or errors are unfortunately mine, however, seeing as I have an awful habit of writing at 3am.

Author's Note: Sigh. Again, many apologies for the long wait on this chapter—especially to those of you that have shown such an interest in this story. Rest assured I have not forgotten about it; I know exactly where it's going, and I have no intention of abandoning it. Updates will be sporadic as life allows. That said—enjoy the next instalment!

* * *

For the first time in nearly ten years, Minerva had very seriously considered abandoning her usual place at the breakfast table in favour of less provocative company; while she had been at odds with Albus many times, and was nearly always so with Severus, she didn't think she could handle the cold shoulder from both of them at once. There were few chairs left by the time she arrived, however, and the space between them was silent and terse as it was, so she steeled herself for an awkward morning and took her seat nonetheless.

Her eyes narrowed upon seeing the teacup. It was centred at her place so she could not miss it, still steaming hot and prepared exactly to her standards—strong, with a dash of cream—and she debated asking Severus whether he thought this was a subtle way of slipping her some sort of potion before she remembered that she was not speaking to him. It _was_ undoubtedly him who had left it for her—she could feel him trying to catch her eye—but she refused to indulge him. True, he likely meant it as some sort of apology, but he showed no signs of wanting to speak with Albus again, and the headmaster was ignoring them both, entirely too involved in spreading marmalade on his toast.

Fine. She could be just as stubborn. It was so _stupid_, really—they'd have to talk to each other at some point; she didn't understand why Albus, at least, didn't try to hurry it along. Of course, judging from Severus's description, the two of them hadn't had a row as bad in a long time, and she certainly hadn't disagreed with Albus so seriously in years, but still…

This could not happen now. There were far bigger things to worry about. Unless—unless Albus was trying to postpone taking action with the Slytherins, and their arguments had provided a convenient excuse not to do so?

The thought startled her; when had she become so suspicious? Shaking her head, she looked around for something to distract herself—still carefully avoiding the men on either side of her—and her eyes fell on an abandoned copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

Albus did not protest at her extracting it from his side of the table, so she did not feel at all sorry about flipping away from the half-finished crossword in search of something more substantial. She scanned the pages quickly, unsurprised by the overlarge headlines announcing the mass breakout from Azkaban, but she settled for perusing the articles anyway. It was the standard-issue tripe for crises, naturally…

She managed to make it halfway through the page before Severus's incessant staring became unbearable.

"_What?_" she hissed in an undertone, still refusing to look at him.

"You knew about the breakout," he said quietly.

"Yes."

"When—?"

"Last night."

"But—how—?"

"Later, Severus, please."

To her surprise, he fell silent again immediately; she almost regretted being short with him, but she caught herself before she turned to meet his eyes. Despite knowing that he needed a friend now more than ever, her irritation with him had not quite abated; he clearly considered her an ally, but he _had_ to stop being so stubborn. Not that she expected that to change much, but she was growing rather tired of being pushed aside and snarled at whenever he fell into one of his moods, refusing to acknowledge or accept help or friendship from others.

No, she reflected, he could wait a while—he was a clever man, and would surely be able to recognise why she was still exasperated, even if he felt she was being foolishly emotional. Albus, on the other hand…

She knew she was being foolish, but she couldn't help but blame him for their current arguments. If he had just been willing to appease Severus, she wouldn't have had to get involved…at least, not to this degree…

She ignored the teacup and reached for the pumpkin juice instead, draining it as quickly as possible before muttering an excuse to leave. She _was_ running rather later than usual, after all—but no one made a move to stop her, although she did get a questioning look from Pomona.

Minerva shook her head slightly in response. It wasn't fair to the others, being kept in the dark like this—but she refused to say anything until she had something more certain to say, and Severus and Albus had to sort themselves out before that could happen. She resisted the urge to turn back and glare at them as she left, vowing instead to wait until after dinner to take them to task, if they hadn't managed to speak to each other before then.

* * *

It was far too hot for September, Severus thought vaguely, glaring pointlessly at the sunny grounds as he trudged towards the greenhouses. Of course, he supposed his third years could have been less generous and ruined his entire stock of shrivelfigs when gathering replacements would require a trip through the rain or snow, but he almost would have preferred that. As it was now, the greenhouses would be nearly unbearable.

Pomona looked surprised to see him, but gestured him inside nonetheless.

"Trouble already? Good thing I planted a few more last summer…. I've got a free period, so I can help if you'd like."

Unwilling to spend more time than absolutely necessary in the stifling room, Severus nodded, and they set to the stunted trees immediately. Pomona eyed him sternly from beneath her hat.

"This'll be nearly the last lot until spring. Dare I even ask what happened to the others?"

Severus scowled. "Idiot third years. Someone left the entire basket uncovered—naturally, just in the perfect place to be victim to a failed potion. I think it's a new record, having to evacuate the second day of classes."

"Nonsense," Pomona said. "Horace had three in the hospital wing on the first day, years ago."

"Slughorn always did have a knack for ignoring those that needed the most help. It was rather dangerous of him."

Pomona raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you're just exceptionally good at your job."

Severus was not used to such blatant praise, even if his position as Potions Master had long since earned him the professional respect of his colleagues. He narrowed his eyes and hoped that the heat in his cheeks could be blamed on the greenhouse.

"That is doubtful," he said gruffly, "considering the complete lack of influence I seem to have had over the members of my own house."

"They'll turn up," said Pomona, though she did not sound at all convinced of her words and eyed him nervously. "Don't worry. I'm sure Dumbledore has a fair idea of what to do already, and he just hasn't shared it with us yet."

It did not occur to Severus to correct her; it would not be worth the trouble, in any case, and he was not about to start explaining Order business to someone who had wanted to stay out of it. He settled for a noncommittal noise instead, and began reaching for the shrivelfigs with renewed vigour—it was more important than ever to get out of this muggy room with this ignorant colleague, before he said something he should not.

"I heard last night that—er, Minerva told me your nephew was engaged, is that correct?" he said, racking his brains for anything to change the subject. Pomona seemed surprised he had mentioned it, but pleased nonetheless, and he was saved from commenting much more as she recited several anecdotes and details that he only half-heard.

"—but I don't expect she's said anything since?" finished Pomona shrewdly.

"I'm sorry?" said Severus, slightly ashamed and irritated that he had been caught not paying attention.

Pomona's smile was a bit too knowing for his taste, and she had the gall to not even call him on it. "Minerva. It was her that told you, yes? I was just saying that you probably haven't heard much from her beyond that."

"No. It…hasn't come up again."

Pomona nodded. "No, I don't expect it would have, seeing as it's rather difficult to discuss something with somebody when you're not speaking to each other."

Severus opened his mouth to tell her to mind her own business, and abruptly shut it again. He supposed, given her close friendship with Minerva, that anything having to do with her _was_, in fact, of some concern; besides, Pomona had long since stopped being aggravated by his sharpness with her, and, in true badger fashion, she knew very well when to bite back herself. Much as he wished she would leave it alone, he had no wish to cross yet another of his tentative friends so soon.

She eyed him sternly, as though aware of his thoughts. "I'm not a fool, boy," she barked. "There's a bad business going on, and the three of you know more than you're letting on—you and Minerva and the headmaster. I'm not going to pester, because if it's any of my concern, I assume I'll find out soon enough."

"Pomona, I did not mean to imply—"

"Oh, _hush_. I'm not offended. But you saw the papers today. The cat's among the pixies now, and it's not helping, the three of you acting as you are. I haven't seen the table so silent in years. Again, I don't know what's happening, and I'm not going to ask—but whatever it is, I suggest you get it sorted, and sooner rather than later."

Severus bit his tongue, though he knew he could no longer blame his flushed face on the room or her flattery. _You're criticising already?_ he thought crossly. If she could so easily claim to know nothing about it, why couldn't she keep her mouth shut?

He threw the last few shrivelfigs into the basket with more force than necessary, but Pomona caught his sleeve as he made to leave, her features softening.

"Don't be angry, lad," she said quietly. "I'm not passing judgment. Just something to think about."

Severus nodded tersely as he shook off her grasp, unsure of just how irritated he was, and unwilling to damage their tenuous relationship further. He occupied himself with levitating the basket and left without another word.

_Trust me, Pomona, I've thought about it_, he thought bitterly.

* * *

"Oh, for heaven's sake…just take it, girl, it won't harm you," said Minerva irritably.

"Quite the opposite, in fact, Miss Deegan," affirmed Poppy, shooting Minerva a warning look. "One glass and you may go."

The small blonde girl eyed the proffered potion with mistrust—privately, Minerva couldn't blame her; it was a truly awful shade of green—before finally taking the goblet with shaking hands and downing it. She looked for a moment as though she were about to be sick, but then abruptly brightened and turned to Poppy in surprise.

"What did I tell you? Now, just a minute—" Poppy said, muttering a few diagnostic spells under her breath, while the girl fidgeted— "All right. Good as new. You're free to go."

Miss Deegan didn't need telling twice. With a mumbled "thanks," she had grabbed her bag and scampered from the room before Poppy could even offer a Jelly Slug.

"I love first years," Poppy sighed.

Minerva rubbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. "I do apologise for that, Poppy. I have absolutely no idea how she managed to give herself the extra hand. That's never happened with a first year before."

"Look on the bright side; she'll be a wonder at human Transfiguration in a few years, once she's managed to control her magic a bit more and learnt the theory."

"I suppose," Minerva agreed unhappily. "That is, if her aim improves as well. I would say it's difficult to miss a matchstick on your desk, but—"

"—but we both know better. Remember the one boy that turned his fingers into needles?"

"Don't remind me," said Minerva darkly. "I swear, it's every other year there's an incident in the first class."

Poppy shrugged. "Incentive for the others not to mess about, then," she said. "Really, Minerva, don't worry. I'm not all that busy yet—and it's good to meet the new students, though it'd be nice if they'd stop assuming I was trying to poison them," she finished, disgruntled.

"Blame Severus. He scarred them all first thing yesterday morning."

Poppy shook her head. "I daresay he enjoys that entirely too much."

Minerva thought it best not to comment. She didn't think she could be held responsible for what else might come out of her mouth in relation to that man—well, him and one other—at the moment. The thought set her head to pounding more forcefully, and she winced.

"I don't suppose you could spare something for a headache, Poppy?" she asked. "I've had one all day—I'm afraid I still didn't get much sleep last night."

"Of course," said Poppy. "You should have said something earlier; it's just an Invigoration Draught—oh, damn," she swore quietly, rummaging in one of her cabinets. "I don't believe it—I _knew_ I'd forgotten to ask Severus for _somethin_g—"

She straightened up and sighed, cheeks pink and looking rather sheepish. "I'm sorry, Minerva, I could have sworn I'd had it restocked. I'll put Severus on it right away and send it up; he might already have some in his stores."

"Oh, no, it's all right," said Minerva firmly; whatever her discomfort, she would take it over dealing with Severus for the time being. "I might still have a vial or two in my office…"

Poppy eyed her doubtfully, but let it go. "If you're sure, then. But let me know if you change your mind. I should call him about it anyway; I'm sure I could have it before long."

Minerva bid her farewell as the mediwitch reached for the Floo powder; much as she was loath to admit it, she was probably going to need it soon—preferably before she worked up the nerve to confront either of her colleagues again.

* * *

"That will be fifty points apiece from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Get out of my sight."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and winced as the door slammed behind the last of his hapless students. Either he was getting to be dangerously lacking in classroom vigilance, or this year's groups were determined to forget everything he'd ever taught them. Honestly, his fourth years should have known how to properly brew a Hair-Raising Potion without killing anyone by now; half the second years could manage it on the first try!

He sighed and stalked to his office, glad his classes were finished for the day. No sooner had he wondered what the hell he was going to do to occupy himself before dinner than his fireplace flared green.

"Severus, are you there?"

He glared upon seeing the matron's face in the flames. "You're lucky I let the last class go early. What do you want?"

"Why don't you come through and we'll discuss it?"

"Very well," he said, though his eyes narrowed as she vanished again with a small _pop_. She had a nasty tendency for asking things of him that he didn't like when she specifically asked to see him in her domain.

"Well, what is it?" he said, once he had joined her. She helped him out of her grate and ignored the glare he sent her for it, amused.

"You let your class go early? Heavens, what did they do?"

"I'd rather not go into it, if you don't mind," he growled. "Suffice it to say you are _extremely_ lucky not to have half of this ward filled."

Poppy nodded. "Say no more."

"What was it you wanted?"

Poppy handed him two phials; he recognised them as part of his recent deliveries to her and raised an eyebrow. She eyed him sternly.

"One's for you. I suggest you take it, Professor Snape, given that even _you_ cannot deny an Invigoration Draught would do you good."

Under her forbidding stare, he drank it and was not surprised to notice his aches and weariness vanish, though he favoured her with a slight sneer for good measure. "If you are quite finished wasting your stock on someone who is quite capable of brewing his own—"

"—The other's for Minerva. She came by and requested some."

"And what the devil has this to do with me?"

"It needs to be delivered to her office."

It took Severus a full several seconds to formulate a response to this, unsure of whether he had understood her correctly. "Excuse me?"

"I told her I would send her up a bottle when I could."

"And why should I be your errand boy?"

"Because when she stopped in, I told her I'd check with you to see if you had any, and have…it…" Poppy trailed off, her cheeks reddening as she realised her error. Severus pounced on it, smirking.

"You _lied?_"

"Minerva needs that potion. Since she didn't get it while she was here, I'm sending it to her," said Poppy loftily, avoiding his eyes.

"Isn't that against your Healer's Code?"

"_Go_—_take_—_it_—_to—her_," Poppy snapped, shunting him out the door before he could protest further. Severus's smirk vanished as soon as it slammed behind him.

The last thing he needed was Poppy getting into this, as well. All right, so she could easily tell when someone was strained; but that was nothing new, and, had Minerva had the sense to drink the tea he'd prepared for her, Poppy's services would not have even been necessary, he thought bitterly. Still, he couldn't blame her for wanting to help—but she had no right to send him off anywhere. Far from not being her messenger, he was certain Minerva still had no desire to see him, and showing up at her door would only make things worse—forcing them to interact more than absolutely necessary was surely a horrible judgment call on Poppy's part.

Scowling, he glanced at the phial in his hand and directed his steps towards Minerva's study anyway. It was her own affair if she chose to keep snubbing him; he'd tried to apologise. He was perfectly entitled to make a professional call.

_Knock, give her the potion, and leave_, he told himself. _Keep your damn mouth shut_.

He wished he didn't already know that it was easier said than done.

"Enter," Minerva called briskly, once he'd tapped on her door. Predictably, her face hardened when she noticed him.

"Professor Snape."

"Poppy wanted this delivered," he said shortly, placing the phial on her desk. _Good. Just turn around and leave._

Minerva's eyes widened in surprise. "Already? I only returned a few minutes ago. Speaking of which," she added, frowning at her clock, "aren't you supposed to be teaching a class?"

"There was an incident—they've been dismissed. And I'll have you know that your dear friend Poppy lied."

"I beg your pardon?"

"She had your potion all along." Severus smirked at the indignation stamped on Minerva's features.

"Why, of all things…" she muttered. "Oh, never mind. Thank you, Severus. I've needed this all day."

Figuring he had already dispensed with his plan to leave immediately, Severus couldn't resist cocking an eyebrow. "Indeed. Granted, you might _not_ have needed it if you had drunk your tea this morning…" he muttered.

"Ah. I thought that was you."

"Afraid it was poison?" sneered Severus.

"Of course not. Suffice it to say I was not in a mood to accept favours," said Minerva stiffly. "It was rather foolish of me, I'm afraid, but there you are."

Severus nodded, recognising her acknowledgement of his apology, and the offering of her own. "Yes. Well. I'd keep that in mind in the future—I've no wish to go running around making Poppy's deliveries."

"Yes," said Minerva, frowning. "Why didn't she give it to me immediately, if she'd had it? And why make _you_ deliver it?"

"Undoubtedly she thinks it an acceptable way to try and force us to reconcile," said Severus drily, in complete agreement with the look of exasperation that passed over Minerva's face.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Well, I suppose it's worked, though, hasn't it?"

"Unfortunately," he admitted. He didn't understand why he should feel lighter at the way the corners of her mouth twitched as she suppressed a smile, but he abandoned thoughts of leaving altogether and took the seat that she indicated without protest.

"Tea?"

"If you insist."

"I do," she replied, abruptly more serious again. "We have a few things to discuss." She pointed to a letter half-folded on her desk. "Albus wants to see us after dinner."

"I was not aware of it." Severus's mind was reeling with questions. What was the old man playing at? He surely didn't think he would have a better chance of convincing them of his view if they all met together? Judging by her thinned lips, Minerva didn't look ready to forgive him, and Severus certainly was not.

She sighed. "I only just received the letter. I expect there's one waiting for you." She waited until they had each settled with a cup before continuing. "It could very well be about the school, of course, but I don't think any of us believe our recent—differences of opinion—won't come into it somehow. We have to be prepared."

"I am. I'm not compromising about this, Minerva."

"I know you're not," she said tiredly, "and, seeing how much I agree with you, I'm certainly not asking you to compromise—especially given Albus's definition of the word."

"Completely bowing to his wishes, you mean," put in Severus.

Minerva glared at him, but did not comment on the bitterness in his voice. She fiddled with a stray strand of hair as she contemplated the letter again.

"Yes. However…please, _please_ do not antagonise him, Severus. If the subject comes up, just let him know your stance has not changed, and leave it at that. I plan on doing the same." She took a fortifying breath. "I expect he has much more to say on…other topics…and all of us shouting at each other will not do any good, especially given the state of things."

"Elaborate."

Minerva shook her head. "Honestly, Severus…surely you've noticed that everyone is talking about the breakout."

"I have, thank you," he replied, bristling at her tone. "What I _don't_ understand is how you apparently already knew about it before seeing the _Prophet_."

"Albus, of course," she said tersely. "When I saw him last night, he had just received word from the Ministry. I haven't seen him so worried in a very long time."

"And you didn't tell me about this last night _why?_" said Severus, furious, though he regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Of course she had not thought to tell him; she had fought with Albus soon after learning the news, and then, almost immediately afterwards, with him.

"Never mind," he growled sullenly, aware that he deserved every bit of the glare she turned on him. "Still…much as I would rather the lot of them rot in Azkaban forever…he had to have seen this coming. Half the inner circle was put away last June; to be honest, I'm surprised the Dark Lord waited this long to get them back."

Minerva shook her head again. "But that's just it. It's not that Albus didn't expect them to break out eventually—it's that it happened so soon, and with absolutely no warning whatsoever. He was so sure that You-Know-Who was going to leave them there as punishment, until they were essential again… Honestly, I think Albus is afraid that You-Know-Who has got yet another major plan in the works, and that everything is moving far more quickly than expected because we just don't know it."

Severus was silent for a while. He was all too aware that the Dark Lord could have many more plans in action, all—provided those involved did their jobs—likely to succeed, because he had not been in on the secret. He was also aware that the Dark Lord was not stupid, and would undoubtedly begin to see a link between those major plans that succeeded, and those that did not involve Severus. His cover would be blown, if it hadn't been already.

He put down his teacup for fear he might shatter it, suddenly sharing the headmaster's worry tenfold. "He blames me, doesn't he?" he said softly.

"I—what?" said Minerva.

"The headmaster. I had no idea any of this was coming—the Slytherins, Azkaban—who knows what else I'm missing? As if the others weren't bad enough," he added quickly. "I am not aware of any slips with the Dark Lord, but don't think it hasn't crossed my mind recently. Of course Albus would be wondering the same."

Minerva stared at him, her eyes calculating. "If you don't believe you've slipped up, I see no reason to suggest otherwise," she said slowly. "After all, you can likely read You-Know-Who better than anyone else."

"That is not at all comforting, considering my complete lack of skill in that area. Just because I don't think I've slipped up somewhere doesn't mean I haven't."

It was Minerva's turn to be silent, her face pensive as she tapped a finger against her cup. Severus inexplicably felt sorry for the worry he was causing her; he had never before considered the toll the war was taking on his colleague, but he could see, now that he was more directly involved with her, how heavily it weighed on her; her face had tautened, her posture—away from students' eyes—not nearly as straight as before. He looked away in embarrassment as she caught him at his scrutiny.

"It's nearly time for dinner. We should go."

Minerva sighed and nodded her agreement. "I suppose it would not help our case if we were to be seen arriving together?"

"Unlikely," he affirmed. "After all, we have every right not to be on good terms at the moment."

"True. I did notice fifty points missing from Gryffindor earlier today."

"They destroyed my supply of shrivelfigs!"

"Do I look like I'm accusing you of unfairness?"

"It is not unheard of."

She sniffed and pointed him out of her office. "After you."

* * *

Dinner was largely the silent affair of the other two meals of the day; even Charity and Bathsheda's gossip was muted, though whether because they noticed anything was amiss or because Septima and Aurora kept shushing them and shooting nervous glances towards the centre of the table was anyone's guess. Thankfully, the student body was rambunctious enough to cover the awkward silence, and also too occupied with their chatter to notice the uneasy looks shared at the High Table when Albus rose and swept from the room, Minerva and Severus in tow.

"Please sit," said the headmaster curtly, barring the door to his office behind them. When they had done so, he stared at them in turn, his eyes devoid of their usual twinkle. "I trust, though we have not recently seen eye to eye regarding our young Slytherins, that I can still depend on you to work in the school's best interests?"

Severus nodded, though his jaw was clenched against the harsh retort that threatened to burst from his lips; Minerva said, "Naturally."

"Good. I trust you are also aware that I have been doing a great deal of travelling this summer," said Albus. "I am afraid, given current circumstances, that I must continue to do so. I cannot yet enlighten you as to where or why," he added, seeing Minerva open her mouth to ask and forestalling her with an upraised hand. "Suffice it to say that I would not be doing so if it were not of the utmost importance. That being said, I need to be sure extra precautions will be taken in my absence."

"Of course," said Severus stiffly, though he was quite as curious as Minerva. "Extra enchantments, patrols—"

"Yes," cut in Albus, "and no. The easiest way to ensure the school's safety is to pretend I have not left. Any extra wards will be placed seamlessly, away from uninformed eyes—and, though I expect you can apprise Filius of the details, give or take a few things—" he nodded to Minerva— "no one else is to know unless absolutely necessary, staff included. The students should not notice unless extra fuss is made, so be sure nothing gives them reason to suspect anything is amiss."

"I think we are quite capable of it," said Minerva. "We have already increased the number of security patrols this year, Aurors included, so that will not be unusual."

Albus nodded. "Indeed. I will, of course, inform you well in advance of leaving, if it is possible, as well as limit my absences to an evening—or a day or two, at most. Is that acceptable?"

"Certainly."

"Yes, Headmaster." Severus hoped his dark amusement was not perceptible; it was not as though they had a choice as to agree. He carefully shielded the thought as Albus fixed him with a piercing look.

"I will be leaving in two days, I think, just after dinner. Severus…above all, Voldemort cannot know. Considering our recent lack of knowledge as far as his plans are concerned, I do not want to think what might occur were he to learn of this. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," replied Severus. "However—if I am called—"

"Minerva is more than capable of debriefing you, if it cannot wait," said Albus, and Minerva nodded her assent. "Speaking of which…am I correct in assuming that you had heard nothing about Voldemort's latest public move, as well as nothing since?"

"Yes. I must confess that I have been tempted to contact some of my other—associates—but given today's news, I thought it best to wait. There is the possibility that—" he broke off in a hiss as his left arm flared with pain; the Mark was finally burning.

"What's the matter? Are you all right?" asked Minerva immediately.

Severus could hardly bear the concern in her voice. "He's calling. I must go."

"Very well," said Albus, though he looked unhappy. "Be careful."

"You know I am, Headmaster."

Minerva gave him a wan smile. "Stay safe, Severus."

"I will be," he said flatly, as he made for the door. He _would_ be. There was no reason for him to be suspect…none whatsoever…

And he was still more terrified of this summoning than he had ever been in his entire life.

* * *

Author's Note: Many thanks, as always, for your time! Please let me know what you think—your feedback is a bigger help than you know. :)


	5. Death Eating

**Disclaimer:** This is fan fiction, meaning it's written by a fan of JKR's world, not JKR herself. Astonishing, I know.

**Author's Note:** Ugh. This chapter is _so_ much longer in coming than it should be, and I can't even say that I'm happy with it. Nonetheless, I needed to just stop fiddling with it and making it worse, and I've got a bit of a lighter schedule now, so hopefully the next chapter will be up before you know it. :)

* * *

The involuntary flash of comfort Severus felt upon seeing Malfoy manor was quickly stifled as he strode to the gates. What on earth was he doing here? The Dark Lord hadn't called a meeting at the Malfoys' since before the end of the first war. More ominously, Severus heard no _cracks_ indicating the arrival of his fellow Death Eaters, meaning that he was either late, or this was some horrible private meeting…

Narcissa's face upon meeting him at the door confirmed his fears.

"Severus," she breathed, "you're nearly late—no, not in the dining room yet," she added quickly, as he made to move across the hall. "The front parlour. The Dark Lord wishes to speak to you alone before the meeting."

Severus nodded, careful to keep the anxiety from his features; he had to refrain from asking questions or acting out of place before he could figure out exactly what going on. Narcissa did not smile as she turned to go, her face white—_and why not?_ thought Severus. Her home was currently host to the most dangerous madman in the world, and his nearly-as-dangerous followers.

He pushed the thought from his mind as he entered the dimly lit parlour; the fire was low, Nagini curled up by the embers. The Dark Lord himself was in the far corner, apparently enthralled by a small dragon skeleton displayed on the bookcase—but Severus knew better; to think the Dark Lord distracted was a very dangerous assumption. He dropped to his knees in the middle of the rug.

"My Lord."

"Severus, my friend. Rise. There is no need for us to speak with you grovelling like some of your more worthless comrades."

The words sounded friendly—indeed, the Dark Lord looked to be in a particularly good mood—but Severus knew one false step could change Voldemort's temper in an instant.

"I merely express my readiness to serve."

"Do you? I find myself surprised—that was more sycophantic than I am used to hearing from you, Severus," Voldemort said, though, thankfully, he appeared more amused than annoyed. "You are angry with me."

"My Lord—" protested Severus, hoping he was not pushing his luck by interrupting, but Voldemort waved it away.

"Do not deny it. You are angry with me—and perhaps rightfully so. We have kept much from you these past weeks."

"I—I am sure you had good reason for doing so."

"Naturally," said Voldemort, laughing. "Still—you have resented it."

Severus was not quite sure what he was supposed to say to this. Admitting anger at the Dark Lord usually didn't end well, but then, he didn't seem to be making much progress in trying to deny it.

"I have been frustrated, I confess," he said finally. "It is difficult for me to operate without news. Dumbledore has been growing more impatient, and even he is beginning to doubt me, I think."

Voldemort nodded. "Forgive me, my friend; but I believe you see why it has been necessary to keep you in the dark about recent events? It was safest for you—one can only imagine Dumbledore's wrath if he knew you had something to do with the removal of the students from his school."

Severus suppressed a snort with difficulty. "Of course. He is angry enough as it is."

"Good, good," Voldemort chuckled. "Do not worry, Severus. You will learn more than enough tonight to perhaps—_redeem yourself_, slightly—in Dumbledore's eyes."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"He should be rather pleased with you, in fact," continued Voldemort, after a contemplative pause. "All of your students, safe, and learning…and learning as they should be, without the influences of bias, or what Dumbledore thinks is appropriate. It is a wonderful idea, is it not?"

"Certainly, my Lord. I have often said our house is not treated with the respect of the others—let alone the respect it deserves."

"Precisely, Severus. I have done everyone a great favour, don't you see? Dumbledore no longer must deal with the house he finds so repulsive; the students are taken from an atmosphere of resentment and can learn—truly learn, beyond the simple knowledge taught at Hogwarts. I have offered them that." He smiled thinly. "Of course, it would be best if we were to have the school itself to educate them, but here will suffice, for now. They will no doubt be willing to help me take the castle when the time comes."

Severus's mind was racing, though he tried to show pleasure in the Dark Lord's pet project. Hogwarts had always been an inevitable target, of course, but this approach was new—simply taking the students until one essentially had the school, then using them to take the premises itself.

Screw pleased, Albus was going to have a _fit_.

"They will be pleased to serve you, I am sure, my Lord."

"They should," said Voldemort, abruptly frowning. "Some of them have been…more _resistant_ to the idea, but I am sure they will realise the advantages of our position in time. Come, Severus, there is much left to do tonight."

Severus kept a respectful distance as they swept from the room, barely acknowledging the looks of astonishment and fear when they joined the assembly waiting in the dining hall. He himself was surprised at the ease with which he had been welcomed, but still too cautious to do more than nod to Lucius.

"I will be brief, my friends, as Greyback is already in position," hissed Voldemort. "This will be our most difficult family yet—we cannot afford _any_ of the mistakes of last time. Delicacy will be the key, I believe. You will stay out of sight until I say—yes, _all of you_," he added, giving a sharp look towards the group clustered at the other end of the table, "and _if_ I give word, you _will not attack until I give the order_. Is that clear?"

Severus kept his face as neutral as ever, though he noted the almost sullen glances between some of the other Death Eaters as they murmured their assent.

Voldemort nodded. "My friends, you surely agree that every drop of magical blood spilled is a waste? You will have your fair share of entertainment, but let us not forget the higher callings of our cause. Now—you have the portkeys, Rookwood?"

"Of course, my Lord." Rookwood passed a small bag towards the head of the table.

"Good. You should all know your positions by now…Severus, you will go with Lucius's group. I shall see you all again in five minutes."

With that, Voldemort Disapparated with a sudden _crack_. The room blinked at his sudden departure, and then moved towards the portkeys; Severus hung back to find Lucius.

"Lucius, what the hell is going on—" he hissed.

"Recruiting party," Lucius said quietly. "You're with us. Would you—after—a drink?"

Severus nodded. He would still have to be careful, but at least speaking with Lucius and Narcissa alone would probably yield better answers. He pulled on his mask and gathered around the small crowbar Lucius and a few others were holding, waiting—and then, after several excruciating seconds, the Mark burned again, and the ground fell away as they spun through darkness towards an unknown destination.

* * *

Minerva's eyes lingered on the door as it fell shut behind Severus, wishing she weren't quite so aware that this might have been the last time she would ever see him. Not that she wasn't getting used to it—she had worried, truly worried more than she had ever thought possible, every time he had been called away in the last year—and she was beginning to wonder just how much longer it could go on before he would crack under the pressure. She turned back to Albus unhappily.

"I hope one of you knows what you're doing," she said, somewhat tartly.

"So do I," said Albus. "It is quite unfortunate timing…I had hoped to inform Severus earlier—but perhaps it is better he knows nothing—"

Minerva stared as he pulled a few letters from one of the desk drawers. It was not like Albus to keep correspondence longer than necessary…

"I am not particularly in the habit of keeping my hate mail," Albus said, "as so little of it is useful… 'You disgrace your Wizarding heritage with the way you run this school'…'It is clearly time for you to give up your position; you've been at it long enough'…"

"Utter tripe."

"Of course it is. I think if you examine these actual letters, however, you will notice something very interesting."

He sounded almost satisfied, but there was a definite undercurrent of worry to his voice that Minerva found unsettling. She scanned the first letter quickly—all tripe, as she had said—but put it down abruptly when she reached the bottom, staring at the shining silver ink.

"This is Tom's handwriting," she said quietly, stunned.

"Isn't it, though? I thought you might be the only other to recognise it—but I doubted I was wrong, having marked his Transfiguration essays for seven years."

"Of course I recognise it," Minerva snapped. "All of us at school then knew Tom Riddle…but why on _earth_…I can't believe he'd stoop to sending you messages, let alone such—such trifling excuses for insults."

Albus nodded thoughtfully. "I can't believe it either…I thought nothing of the letters when I first received them, but there seemed something familiar—and it was fortunate I had not yet thrown them away, once I realised why. But that still leaves us with the question of why they were sent in the first place."

"He can't truly mean it as discouragement, surely? In all honesty, they don't seem to be anywhere near as nasty as some of the correspondence you've received in the past," said Minerva, glancing over the other missives with a frown.

"My thoughts precisely. The only viable conclusions I have been able to draw is that either this sender is not, in fact, Lord Voldemort, though why he would want or be able to impersonate him so thoroughly is unknown. Or—that these were indeed sent by Voldemort or his followers."

"But _why?_"

"Why, indeed? They are far too trivial and unsophisticated for Voldemort's taste, if I may be so bold to say it; it is not at all his style of intimidation, especially as he would know such a tactic would not work with me. I can therefore only assume that these letters have some other purpose than their stated contents."

Minerva blinked, perplexed. This was quite possibly one of the most bizarre conversations she'd ever had with Albus—and she'd had quite a few. "What—?"

"I am not certain, but I have been trying to determine whether they contain clues to his next moves—I did receive one before the start of term, and another yesterday, but I cannot determine how a hidden message is supposed to work, if indeed one is contained within them. It's maddening."

"Perhaps that's what he wants," said Minerva, suddenly anxious. "Perhaps he's simply sending you things—even trivial things—just to take your focus away from what's important."

"I have not ruled it out," said Albus, though he sounded doubtful. "Still…I would like to investigate it further before I start discarding them. If it is indeed a sort of puzzle, it may be useful to solve it—as well as determine why Voldemort thinks it an adequate use of time and resources."

"He's evil," said Minerva flatly. "He's evil, and arrogant, and wasting your time with pointless puzzles—or, _very well, then_, making things more interesting by sending you his plans in disguise, only to see you fail to decipher them in time—is exactly what he would find amusing."

After a moment's hesitation, Albus stashed the letters away again. "I only hope, that if I am right about these messages…that it is not the warning I think it might be."

"Which is?"

"If Voldemort is communicating directly, Minerva, it could very well mean he knows we will not have a spy for much longer."

* * *

Severus opened his eyes as soon as his feet hit the ground, and nearly squeezed them shut immediately afterwards; he was mere inches from a tree trunk. He backed away slowly and almost tripped over another Death Eater, who had not been so graceful with Portkey travel and had ended up sprawled in a heap.

"Oh, get up," he heard Lucius say, and the unfortunate man scrambled out of kicking range and nearly fell over again in his haste to rise.

"That should be everyone," said Lucius, looking around; Severus followed his gaze, picking out faint shapes of other men within the trees. It was rather thinly wooded, but a quick glance in the other direction made it obvious as to why; they were on the edge of an expansive garden, dwarfed by the unfamiliar manor perhaps a hundred yards away.

"We're really starting the raids again, then?" he muttered.

"Essentially, yes," said Lucius.

"Just like old times."

One of the others—Severus thought it was Rowle—spat bitterly. "Not like old times at all. We're not 'raiding' any more, we're 'recruiting.' Load of rubbish. He plans it out like it's going to be some big attack, and half the time we don't even get to come out of hiding. He just goes up to the door and talks to them."

If it hadn't been so alarming, Severus might have laughed—the Dark Lord, going from door to door like a Muggle salesman or politician! But if Voldemort wanted to do this himself, he clearly considered it important—far too important to let his servants handle it. Severus frowned—there was something no one was telling him.

"Well, the Dark Lord does have some power and influence about his person," he said drily. "I can't imagine many refusing him if he showed up at the door himself. We're here for a show of force."

"Yes," admitted Lucius. "And we've used force, when necessary… but the threat is usually enough. If not—well, we haven't brought Greyback along for nothing. Those that won't join us as wizards will have little choice in the matter as werewolves."

Severus suppressed a shudder with difficulty. Quite apart from his own aversion to werewolves, he despised Greyback; using him to increase the circle of followers seemed extreme even for the Dark Lord. Severus narrowed his eyes as he looked towards the manor again.

"But—"

"Shut _up_, Snape," Rowle hissed. "He'll be here any minute, and if he hears us, we're all in for it."

"Just watch," Lucius breathed. "I'm sure you'll figure it out soon enough."

He did not sound pleased, though, and Severus could not help but wonder at the looks of unease and downright mutiny he saw in the eyes of the Death Eaters around him. Clearly, all was not as it seemed.

The _crack_ as Voldemort Apparated in the middle of the garden was unnaturally amplified to Severus's ears, or perhaps he was simply too lost in thought. He watched, disbelieving, as the Dark Lord strode to the doors and waited, presumably for an answer from within.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"_Shh!_"

They waited in silence as a crack of light spilled over the lawn, another figure silhouetted there, and Severus was suddenly glad he could not hear what was being said. He had enough trouble speaking to the Dark Lord himself; he could well imagine the terror of having no warning before being forced into conversation with the most dangerous Dark Wizard of all time. He was glad he was far away in the trees, deaf to the conversation, half-expecting a Killing Curse at any moment—

Instead, his Mark burned so intensely that he barely suppressed a hiss, and a few men around him muttered curses. Lucius nodded.

"Carefully."

They moved from the cover of the trees, converging in a group the likes of which Severus had not expected; the Dark Lord must have made arrangements with others, many more than the inner circle.

There was silence for a few moments, and then a few figures walked forward. After a moment, Severus realised the Dark Lord must have called them personally; they disappeared with the other silhouettes inside, leaving the small army to wait yet again. Next to him, Lucius huffed slightly.

"They were smart—they accepted before Greyback was involved."

"Who are they?" muttered Severus.

"Collishams. Lesser Purebloods. Barely." Lucius sounded almost like his old disdainful self for a moment before adding nervously, "But there's no guarantee whether it's—"

He broke off again immediately, for the great doors opened again and Voldemort re-emerged, staring around at them all and nodding.

"Well done, my friends. Two more for our cause. You may rest tonight knowing we are moving forward…but first…." He glanced at the manor again, and there was no mistaking the look of contempt that distorted the snake-like face. "Burn it."

He was gone in a sharp _crack_, and many of the waiting Death Eaters cheered. Severus did not protest as Lucius pulled him aside.

"The inner circle does not usually stay…unless you wish it, of course?" said Lucius, grimacing in distaste as the manor was engulfed in flames within seconds.

"I can't say that I do," said Severus, though he paused to put right a few fiery spells that had strayed from their mark. "Idiots…they'll have half the countryside burnt by morning if they keep that up."

Lucius snorted. "You remember, Severus. All in the name of fun."

"Of course." Severus nodded, but couldn't help his smirk upon seeing Lucius sniff irritably. "Only, you don't seem to think so anymore, do you?"

"Neither do you," said Lucius, not skipping a beat. He sighed and held out an arm. "Narcissa will be waiting. Shall we?"

"Indeed."

* * *

"Minerva!"

Minerva turned in surprise at the voice hailing her; Charity rarely sought her out, and often returned home far earlier in the evening. Nevertheless, Minerva stopped and withdrew her hand from her office door.

"Charity, this is a surprise—what can I do for you?"

The short blonde witch smiled. "I just heard back from my publisher. They've finally approved it!"

"The book or the article?"

"The book! No more drafts, thank God!" said Charity, laughing. "They're ready to print whenever I give the word—only, I was hoping to get an endorsement from a colleague or two," she added, rather shyly. "I don't suppose there will be time in the staff meeting tomorrow to address it?"

Minerva nodded. "Of course—I shall add it to the list. Congratulations."

"Thank you!" Charity beamed. "Oh, I'm sorry to bother you; I should get home…Greg will be thrilled…."

She waved and practically bounced out of sight; Minerva watched her go and felt her heart sink.

It was not as though she did not agree with Charity's fundamental sentiments on Muggles—and she _did_ think the Wizarding World needed to be made aware of them—but now was not the time to be handing out thousands of pages on the subject. It was too dangerous—but, then, Charity always did have a lack of foresight.

Minerva sighed. Albus could sort it tomorrow.

* * *

"You both smell awful," Narcissa said baldly, her delicate nose wrinkling, but it was somehow not enough to keep her from embracing Lucius the instant he came within reach. "What happened? Where were you? Severus—what's going on?"

"Patience, my dear," said Lucius smoothly. "I'm sure he'd rather like to know that himself. Shall we have a drink?"

Much to Severus's puzzlement, Narcissa glanced at the grand staircase before nodding. "I think they've settled."

Severus knew it would be pointless to ask; he instead followed the Malfoys to Lucius's study, noting how closely they walked, how reluctant they were to break contact. He had nearly forgotten that Lucius had only just escaped from Azkaban, but there was no mistaking that haunted look or the hollowness of his cheeks—nor the way Narcissa looked at him when they had finally barred themselves in the spacious study.

"It is good to see you again," said Severus sincerely, nodding his thanks as Narcissa poured them wine. She gave him a wan smile and nestled beside her husband again.

"I must confess, I did not expect to be released so soon," said Lucius, his voice low, "but I cannot say I am ungrateful."

"And what would have been gained by keeping you locked away?" said Narcissa, albeit nervously.

"Nothing much, of course," lied Lucius, and abruptly changed the subject. "It is good to see you again as well, Severus. When you weren't at yesterday's meeting, I thought…"

"I haven't seen you all summer," Narcissa cut in quickly. "I wasn't sure—"

"You thought I was dead," said Severus bluntly.

"Not necessarily," protested Narcissa.

Lucius smiled thinly. "You must admit, when someone simply disappears from meetings, they usually aren't in any shape to ever come back."

"If I am honest, I did not expect as warm a welcome as I received. I had assumed I was not included in most summonses, but I could not think of a safe way to ask why," said Severus, eying his hosts carefully.

Lucius frowned. "That was wise. I cannot say I knew much more than you, this past summer, but still…things have been—different."

"I hadn't noticed," said Severus sardonically. "I thought the Dark Lord always paid house calls."

"That's just it," said Narcissa quietly. "He has been. This summer, at least. Oh, Severus, it's been such a mess—"

Severus waited for Lucius to contradict her, to perhaps even roll his eyes as he always did when she tended towards the dramatic, but Lucius only squeezed her hand and looked grim.

"I assume you know the Dark Lord's latest educational project?" he said quietly.

Severus frowned. "If you're talking about the fact that every single student of Slytherin House has failed to return to Hogwarts, barely. When I spoke with the Dark Lord tonight, he led me to believe that he himself had recruited them all, and was somehow finding a way to teach them—but that's—"

"True," finished Lucius. "They're here, Severus. All of them."

"_Here?_"

"In the manor," said Narcissa, her voice trembling at last. "We'd do anything to serve the Dark Lord, of course, but—oh, Severus, this isn't a school; every spare room in the manor is filled, and it's been difficult to divide them up and find those of us that can train them—"

"The Dark Lord has assured us that it is a temporary solution," said Lucius hastily. "They will not intrude on us for long…but the fact remains, this is not Hogwarts. While they may be learning certain things more quickly, we cannot offer them nearly as much; it is difficult enough to find those of us that have the patience to teach them simple spells and duelling."

"They're children," said Narcissa coldly. "To have them so directly involved—most are younger than Draco, some even younger than eleven—he's been taking on the purebloods that had chosen to stay home for their education, as well."

Severus bit back a curse and sipped his wine to give himself time to think. "You cannot be the only ones that think this is a bad idea," he said finally.

"Of course not," snapped Narcissa. "Even those of us that were aware of this at the beginning were never particularly enthusiastic."

"And, given how much time we have spent recruiting, it's not difficult to see why the others are growing restless," added Lucius. "Restoring the Wizarding world to its proper order seems a long way off from simply gaining the odd follower or two. But no one is going to be foolish enough to say—"

He fell silent immediately at the knock on the door; Draco poked his head around the frame moments later.

"Mum?"

"What is it, Draco?" said Narcissa softly.

"Pansy was wondering whether someone else might switch rather than having to—Professor Snape?"

Severus nearly smirked at the flabbergasted look on the boy's face. "Hello, Draco. The dungeons have been rather quiet without you."

Draco fidgeted sullenly. "I—I didn't—the Dark Lord said he'd give me my Mark soon," he said, and Severus heard Lucius inhale sharply. "Besides, I'll be back soon enough, once Hogwarts is ours, right, Professor?"

"One can hope," said Severus vaguely, but he didn't miss how Lucius's mouth twisted in annoyance. Narcissa stood gracefully.

"What is it, Draco?" she repeated.

"Oh—yeah—Astoria said she'd take the new ones if Daphne and Millicent wanted to move in with Pansy instead, but we'd need help—"

"That's all right, I suppose. I'll be there in a moment," said Narcissa, and waited until her son had ducked out the door again before muttering, "Honestly, Severus. I've no idea how you deal with this on a regular basis."

"Neither do I. But you shouldn't have to," he pointed out.

Narcissa sighed. "You'd think I would be used to it by now…who are the 'new ones'?" she added, looking at Lucius.

"Collishams. They're still young and an unknown entity; don't tell them we burned the manor," he said softly. Narcissa nodded and left, though she looked rather paler than usual.

Severus remained silent as Lucius finished his wine; he looked far more upset than Severus had seen him in a very long time. Not that he could be blamed—escaping Azkaban to find his home invaded by the Dark Lord and a hundred schoolchildren could not have been easy, but Severus doubted that these were the greatest of Lucius's worries.

"You do not wish for Draco to take the Mark."

It was not a question, and Lucius looked around at him sharply. "No," he breathed. "Not yet. It—you know I am loyal, Severus, but it has been different—extremely so. It is not as it was last time, or even last year. The Dark Lord's return is known, but he is being more cautious with the more important of our plans; he rarely shares them, he is less patient, he is—more dangerous."

"He has always been dangerous, Lucius," replied Severus, though he did not disagree.

Lucius shook his head. "You know Draco, Severus. He is not ready. He has no idea of what is in store, what will be asked of him—so, no, I do not wish him to take the Mark. Not yet."

Severus searched his face for signs of dishonesty; he would not put it past Lucius to try to draw him out and test his loyalties, especially if the Dark Lord had commanded it. "And—if the Dark Lord wishes for Draco to take the Mark?" he said finally.

"Then he will," said Lucius abruptly. "I would never dream of telling the Dark Lord what he should or should not do, my friend. Perhaps things will be better within a few months' time, in any case."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps the Dark Lord will only grow more cautious. He cannot seriously expect to have achieved much if his focus is currently on recruiting children and their families."

Lucius frowned. "That's just it—I'm sure it's not. He's planning more, that much is certain, but I doubt he will tell anyone any time soon. Compared to last time, it's almost as if—" Lucius glanced around nervously, though Severus was quite sure they were alone— "it's almost as if he's afraid that we're losing."

"He is not alone in that," said Severus. "If anything, Dumbledore has been much the same."

"The Wizarding world at war, and both sides too paralysed at the thought of losses to do anything to guarantee a victory," Lucius snorted mirthlessly. "I wonder which is more dangerous: a war where both sides are sure they are winning, or both are convinced they are being defeated?"

Severus did not bother to answer. It made little difference; it would not end well for him either way. The only question was which side was going to decide his time was up first, and how long he had before then.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading! Again, apologies for such a long wait and such a slow chapter to end it; hopefully the next will be much quicker in coming. Feel free to say hi or berate me for my horrid update timing any time!


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